Stairway to Paradise
by RainFlame
Summary: Ed has been MIA for months, and when Roy finally finds him, he is blind and more than just physically injured. With the State honorably discharging him, and no father to speak of, Roy has no choice but to care for the boy and try to put the pieces back together. Parental!Roy. Rating for injury and violence, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

There reaches a point where you believe it can't get any worse.

When you get past that point, they call it a nightmare.

When you pass that, well, then it must be called purgatory.

He had had a lot of time to think it over, and that's what he decided this was: Purgatory.

He felt something latch onto his automail foot and cried out, heart racing and hand flying to instinctively cover his throat as he kicked out. The creature let out a surprised yelp and its presence slinked back, away from his corner.

He had been dozing again, taking advantage of the brief snippets of peace between agonies, but he could never truly sleep. Not when he was so cold and so hungry. Not when he shared this tiny cell with three feral wolves that would much rather eat him than leave him to his rest. He thought he had gotten his bluff in on them in the beginning, thrashing them every time they so much as looked at him funny, but he had been told animals had a sixth sense for weakness.

Well, if he was anything right now, it was weak.

Not long after he had first arrived, he had fallen asleep on the floor and awakened with one of the animal's jaws wrapped around his throat. He hadn't slept quite as soundly since then.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, be it weeks or months or years. Surely not years . . . but he couldn't be sure. He supposed it was possible. Anything that horrible was well within the realm of possibility.

With a shaky breath, he pulled his legs up to his chest and curled up in a ball, pressing his face to his knee. Sometimes that helped with the pain and the hunger, helped to keep him warm and it kept the dogs' teeth from most of his vitals. Especially his neck.

He vaguely remembered what had led him to this; this broken, starving heap he was now, a shadow of a human being. Before everything had been stripped from him, when he still had his pride and his dignity and hope. It was a distant memory, almost seeming like another life.

He vaguely remembered he had been on a mission, something about locating stolen supplies in the north. Alphonse wasn't allowed to come with him for reasons of stealth, and now he couldn't have been more relieved. He had been abducted from around Briggs, ambushed before he even knew what had happened. He was taken back to their base, and that's around the time his memory started to get a bit fuzzy.

He knew the first thing they did upon finding out he was an alchemist was take his watch, and then they made the mistake of not realizing he didn't need a circle to transmute. After that particular revelation, they took his arm, and kicked him around for good measure. He was shown his cell, which was really a small, frozen basement in their sick and twisted hideout. They took his clothes and chained him to the wall by the neck, like a dog, then left him down there in the dark for days without food or water with only three starving wolves for company.

He had known that they were waging psychological warfare on him. That was why they were treating him like this, trying to humiliate him and destroy his sense of self. They didn't know who they were dealing with, though. They didn't know they were messing with the Fullmetal Alchemist.

He almost gave a small, weak laugh as he remembered, but his throat wasn't used to such sounds and he wheezed pathetically instead. What a fool he was.

After that, they dragged him out of the dark basement and asked him questions, mostly about the Amestrian army and their forces and a lot of things that he simply didn't know, and wouldn't have said if he did, not so much out of loyalty but out of sheer spite. He grasped at that small amount of control, reveling in angering his captors, tormenting them in his own way even as they tormented him. They stuck him with knives, shooting electricity up his shoulder port, tearing at his skin with blades and even burning him with acid and fire, but he had hope. He knew rescue would come, and it would be soon and as long as he kept it together, kept his wits about him and kept fighting, he would see Al again.

But no one ever came.

It had been weeks, long tortuous weeks stuck there in constant pain, starving on a rat's share of food that he had to wrest from the jaws of the wolves. He was running on next to no sleep, thanks to the same cell mates, and the constant, biting cold stole the last shreds of his patience.

He had decided to make a break for it on his own. He had been planning it for days, almost since his arrival, waiting for the opportunity to strike. He had broken off a toe of his automail and slowly but surely scratched a circle in the stone floor of his prison. It had taken hours upon hours to etch into the hard surface, and when he finally had it ready, he waited for the perfect time to strike.

His escape attempt was nothing short of a disaster. He had made it as far as outside, barely tasting the freedom in the frozen north air in time for them to run him down and drag him back, none too gently.

And to reward him for his hope, they poured acid in his eyes.

The last thing he had seen was their leering faces as they took his sight.

He had heard many people say that the Fullmetal Alchemist was too stubborn to break, too strong to shatter. He had been told that there was nothing he couldn't do if he put his mind to it, nothing he couldn't bear with his resolve.

But all it took was the removal of that predominant sense, and he felt something in himself break into a million pieces.

He wasn't human anymore, he knew that for sure. He was less than the animals he shared his cell with. He jumped at the slightest noise, flinched from whispers of air, cowered with every touch.

Eyesight was knowing. It was a grounding in the present and a safety net he didn't know he had possessed until it was gone.

Blindness was the dark and fear and pain and the unknown. It was vulnerability in a way he had never thought existed. It was everything terrifying, magnified a thousand times.

And perhaps the worst thought of all was that even if by some miracle he did get out alive, he would never see his brother again.

He wasn't sure how many days after that incident it was before he couldn't take the fear anymore and tried to kill himself. He laid there, waiting for the wolves with throat laid bare, hyperventilating as he heard their paws whisper across the floor, the soft huff of their breathing just out of reach. He could almost smell their hunger, and when one of them eagerly latched onto his bare stomach, he couldn't help but instinctively kick it away with mindless panic and try to staunch the blood pouring from his gut with his only hand.

That had only driven the starved animals mad with hunger and they fell upon him, ripping and tearing and he _fought_. He fought with everything he had left in his broken, bleeding body, despite how his mind screamed for him to stop, to let it end there.

But though he wasn't even human anymore, he was still alive, and it was hard to shoulder past the instinct to keep it that way.

Somehow he had fought them back, somehow they had retreated from him. He had screamed at them, straining at the end of his chain until he choked, slashing the air with his only arm, trying to reach them, to tear them apart, to make them understand that, if nothing else, he still had control over _this_, and he had suddenly decided that he couldn't die. Not here, not at their jaws like a mindless sheep.

And then he realized that he was too much of a coward to die. He couldn't even end it on his terms.

As far as he could tell, that had been weeks, maybe months ago.

And it had been too long since someone had been down here. Too long since he and the wolves had eaten anything. He wondered now if his captors were gone, had abandoned him to die here with the rest of the animals.

The wolves were growing braver, their hunger making them try things they hadn't since he had let them have it. He knew that he was starving to death, and that they had the advantage over him in strength and numbers. It wouldn't be long before he would be too weak to fend them off, and then he would be slaughtered like a deer in the woods.

He suddenly became aware of sounds from the house above, thunking and stomping that he hadn't heard in days. Had they come back? Maybe there were here to get him, or maybe they were here to finish him off, tying up all the loose ends before moving out.

His breathing accelerated, dangerously fast. He heard the dogs shuffling nervously, one even uttering a soft growl that made him flinch away, pressing his broken body even closer to the wall, his heart pounding in his throat. He smelled fear, a scent he didn't even know existed until his sight was gone, but was now all too familiar with. It hung thick in the air, and he wasn't sure if it belonged to the wolves or to him.

Footsteps, at least four sets, maybe more, stopped outside the basement door. There was the heavy rattling of tumblers rolling and the door swung open, grating on squeaking hinges to bounce on the wall behind it.

He remembered it was dark, whether the door was open or not, and he pressed himself as far as his chain would allow him, cramming his small frame into the corner and trying vainly to slow his breathing as the collar around his neck chaffed and choked him.

Feet thudded down the steps, all thirteen of them, before halting. Probably because at that time the wolves let out a chorus of vicious snarls, their voices rolling thunder in the tiny basement.

"Dispatch them," a baritone voice ordered, sounding weak and brittle and terribly familiar.

Shots rang out, impossibly loud and it was all he could do to keep from crying out in terror. He heard surprised, pain-filled yelps and the sounds died.

And for a moment, he was terrified for the wolves, sad they were gone and that he was alone in his purgatory, facing the end by himself. Because even if they were part of his torment, possibly the instrument of his death, they had been _there_, and that was more than anyone else had done for him in this wretched place.

The basement stank of death.

Then the steps approached and he fought to keep his body still. Maybe they had forgotten he was there, maybe they wouldn't see him. Maybe this was another nightmare.

He buried his face in his knees and prayed they wouldn't see him.

"Ed?" a voice whispered.

His heart stopped.

Ed? That was his name . . . a name he hadn't heard in weeks, months . . . that was _his_ name. Who here knew his name? That was something he had refused to tell them, refused to let them defile with their coarse tongues and vile lips.

"Ed, can you hear me?" a different voice, a tenor, murmured. It was so soft, but so terribly loud only feet away from him.

This was a dream. It had to be, because reality wasn't this kind.

Words weren't something he could wield right now, some part of his mind so detached from such complicated language all together. He smelled sweat and anxiety and smoke, and smoke meant fire and they were going to burn him again. He was choking on his heart. He could only stay still and stay quiet and pray that they left without killing him.

He felt the air pressure move and a feather-light touch on his shoulder.

He was trapped against the wall, the chain pulled taught and already almost choking him. If his heart beat any faster it would probably stop, but something was touching him, only seconds away from hurting him, and he had to get it away.

He snarled, a purely animalistic sound, and perhaps if he had time to think about it, he would have been ashamed of that fact. He kicked out with his automail leg even as he pressed tighter against the wall, pressing his face into his flesh leg. His foot connected with something solid and he heard a surprised _oof!_ as his attacker was driven away from him.

_"Fullmetal!" _The baritone barked._ "Stop this right now!"_

That voice . . . that tone . . . he knew it. It brought back memories of sitting in the office with the sun shining behind that grand desk, of almost friendly banter and snide comments and teasing and safety.

He wanted to say something, to beg for confirmation, but he was so scared, so terrified that if he uttered a single syllable, the dream would shatter and he'd be in that chair with electricity sent up his raw nerve endings, or knives slid between his ribs.

"Fullmetal, look at me," that voice ordered, now only inches from his face.

He slowly, so slowly, lifted his head, careful to keep his delicate throat protected as he looked ahead. "Mus. . .tang . . . ?" he dared to whisper, his parched throat grating out the foreign sounds of human language. He didn't even recognize his own voice anymore, but that didn't matter, as long as he was _sure_.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, a startled gasp from the man before him. Then a deep, shuddering breath. "That's right, Ed. It's me. We're taking you home."

He felt a sudden heat to his sightless eyes, smelled salt and felt tears roll down his face. He was crying, his body shaking as his mind struggled to process what was just said to him.

Home? They were taking him home?

They had come for him.

Part of him knew he shouldn't let his guard down; that he still didn't know enough to be sure yet if this was some trick or a hallucinated dream born of desperation.

But if this were a dream, he didn't want to wake up again.

"I have Hawkeye, Havoc, and Breda with me, Fullmetal," Mustang's voice murmured again, a gentle balm to his raw nerves. He could sense the others, one near the stairs, one just behind the Colonel, and one just a few feet to his side. "Falman and Feury are both outside, standing guard. I'm going to take that thing from around your neck, then we can go. Is that okay?"

His neck? Touch his neck? That wasn't okay, not at all. Didn't he know that it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea?

He must have seen his hesitancy, the protective way he wrapped his hand around his collared throat. "Ed, we have to get it off to get you home. Don't you want to go home and see Al?"

See Al? He could never see his little brother again, but that wasn't what the Colonel meant. Yes, he wanted to be with his brother again! Of course he did, but his throat . . . it was all that kept him here, grounded in the world, keeping his soul on this side of the Gate.

"It's okay, Ed. I'll get it off, then I'll take you to Al."

It was for Al. He would do anything for Al, no matter how scared he was.

He gave a shaky nod and slowly dropped his hand from his throat.

"Very good, Ed," Mustang said approvingly. "I'm going to touch the lock now, okay? I have the key. I'm just going to unlock it. If you hold very still, I won't even touch your neck. Does that sound fair?"

Another shaky nod and he felt the air shift, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as he sensed the hand closing in on him. He tried hard not to hyperventilate. "You're doing fine, Ed," Mustang complimented, but he could hear the strain behind the amiable words. He felt the weight on his neck shift and it took all he had not to jerk back, to kick out and keep it _away_. A small whimper escaped his lips. "Shhh," Mustang whispered, the collar jingling. "It's okay, Ed. Almost got it."

Suddenly the tightness was gone, the weight falling away to clatter on the ground. The chaffed skin around his throat chilled in the frigid air, burning with sudden sensation. He whipped his only hand up to wrap his fingers around it protectively.

"Very good, Ed. You did well," Mustang praised. "I'm going to pick you up, okay? I'll carry you out of here."

He couldn't have protested it if he wanted to. It was just too much, too many sensations, too much fear, too many unknowns. He wasn't sure when he was in Mustang's arms, but he was just coherent enough to hear the older man's string of soft, quiet apologies as he carried him up the stairs and out of purgatory.

* * *

_Okay, so I know I haven't finished _Heart_ yet (only one more chapter, which will be posted this week/weekend) but I've been planning this fic for seems like forever and inspiration struck me last night. I wrote this almost all in one go haha xD I couldn't stop myself :'D Self-control = zero._

_So, I give you the first chapter, not even posted on deviantart yet :D This is practically an exclusive! I'll put it up there later, if you're following me there. I like to space out my literary submissions there, so I don't spam the people that are watching me more for art._

_This one's a bit darker than my usual line, but it's not going to get too graphic or anything. This chapter is about as bad as it's gonna get. I know I'm known for being more of a "family friendly" writer, and I want to keep it that way lol. _

_Hope you like the way it's starting! If you have the time, drop a review and I'll see you next chapter!_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	2. Chapter 2

Waiting was always the most agonizing part.

He had waited for the boy to report in, and it never came. He waited for news of him, and it never came. He waited for their handful of leads to turn up a scrap of evidence that Ed was still alive, and after three months of the boy missing, the wait was supposed to be over. Roy finally had him. He was finally safe.

But, as Roy watched the disturbed visage of the doctor coming down the hall to see him, he decided that for Ed, safe was a relative term.

Roy stood to meet the doctor, Hawkeye by his side. The rest of his team was busy coordinating the investigation into who Ed's captors were, where they had gone, and where Roy could find them so he could make them pay for the condition they had returned his subordinate in.

The last one wasn't written on the orders, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that retribution of the fiery kind was in order.

"How is he?" Roy demanded before the doctor could get a word out. He spared a glance at the tag on the man's lapel that read 'Doctor Wayne Marsh.' He was an older man, with hair thinning into a white, wispy halo around his head, a thin frame, and small, dark eyes that vaguely reminded Roy of a weasel.

"We should talk in my office," Marsh said, gesturing for them to follow. It was a good idea, since this was case-sensitive information, but Roy couldn't help but be annoyed with the further delay.

The doctor took them back into a hallway of offices and into the third door on the left. His personal space was a disorganized mess, with papers littered all over the desk and files piled high on every surface, but Roy was far too distracted to be bothered by the man's housekeeping.

"What is his condition?" he snapped as soon as the door shut. Perhaps it was a bit rude, but Roy had waited for this information for three months.

The older man sighed. "He's in bad shape. The most obvious problems are the bite wounds. You said he was kept in a room with wild dogs? Several of those are infected, as well as several of the lacerations and deep cuts on most of his body. He has a multitude of burn marks, some appearing to be from some sort of acid. He is severely malnourished and dehydrated, so he's on fluids. We've stitched him up and given him shots for tetanus and started him on antibiotics and rabies vaccinations, though we don't have the results on the dogs' autopsies yet. Just a precaution, you see."

"What about his automail?" Roy asked. Even to his own ears he sounded terse and snappish, but the way this man was just _listing_ these things, like items on a grocery list . . . it was _infuriating_.

And the thought of someone doing all this to _Ed _. . . Roy wanted to make someone pay.

"His leg has some damage that might cause him some problems, most notably a missing toe. His shoulder port appears to have been terribly abused. The fuses are burned out, and there is some trauma to the tissues around it, perhaps for the same reasons. We have him scheduled to meet with our automail specialist in the morning."

"And his eyes?" Roy was afraid to ask, but in the dimness of that wretched basement, when Ed had looked up at him, Roy couldn't help but notice his golden eyes, once fiery and sharp, were dull and murky, not focused on anything. He hadn't shared his suspicions with anyone, lest he make them worry for nothing, but now he had to know.

"Acid," the doctor supplied.

Roy had known it, but he still felt his insides go cold with the brutal confirmation.

Hawkeye didn't say anything, but Roy noticed the sudden tension in her jaw and throat, the tightness in her eyes. Apparently she hadn't noticed before.

"It's been too long to properly gauge what kinds were used, but it was obviously strong enough to do the trick."

Roy thought he did a valiant job of not throttling the man for such casual terminology. "The _'trick?'_" he hissed.

The doctor seemed to catch the promise of violence in his inflection. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance uncomfortably. "He has no vision or light sensitivity in either eye."

Another dreaded question: "Will it come back?"

"Not likely," he said, bringing up his clipboard to check something, or maybe to keep his gaze hidden from Roy's threatening glare. "If you would like, you may see him now. He caused a lot of problems when we got him in here, so he's being lightly sedated, just enough to keep him from being a handful. I'll send in my assistant to check on him in a bit." Roy knew a dismissal when he heard one. The doctor turned and walked out of the office, leaving him and Hawkeye to stare after him.

"I should set his whole office on fire," Roy snarled, stalking into the hall and heading for the ICU.

Hawkeye kept pace with him easily. "That would not be wise, sir."

"I don't care. If it weren't connected to the whole hospital, it would be _ashes_," he assured her with barely restrained fury.

"He did his job, sir. Just because he didn't sugarcoat it is no reason to become violent," she said sagely, but Roy could hear the undercurrent of tension in her strong voice.

Roy didn't respond, lest he take out his wrath on her. She was right, as she always was, but that didn't make him any happier.

This whole situation was maddening. This shouldn't be happening, not to Ed. What was he _thinking_, sending the boy up here?! The Drachman border was a hot spot of terroristic activity, with bombings and kidnappings almost as common as not. It was no wonder something had gone so wrong.

Roy couldn't help but wonder why it was his subordinates always had to pay for his mistakes.

"Have you notified his brother?" he asked, suddenly feeling very much the wet match Ed often likened him to. Alphonse would be devastated to see his brother like this. _Ed_ would be devastated for him to see him like this.

"We've tried to get in touch with him, but as you know, he hasn't been staying in any hotels," she said. As a suit of armor, Alphonse didn't require things like food and sleep. The day Ed went missing, Al had dropped everything and took a train to the north. He called to check in with Roy about once or twice a week, but as far as anyone knew, he was constantly on the move, tirelessly scouring the countryside for any sign of his brother. "We left a message at his last known location, but they haven't seen him in three days."

Roy chanced a sidelong look her way. To an outsider, she appeared calm and confident, fully in control of herself, but Roy had known her for years. He had known her when she was young and every emotion could be clearly read on her beautiful face, and he knew what to look for; the tightness in the corner of her eyes, her shoulders, the way her elbow bent slightly, as if subconsciously wanting to reach for her gun. Roy knew she cared about the Elric brothers a great deal. They all did.

When they arrived at the hospital room, Ed didn't seem "lightly sedated," as the doctor had promised.

Actually, he was currently in the middle of fighting off three male nurses. Well, mostly two, since the other was flat on the ground, blood streaming from his nose. The other two had just managed to strap down the boy's automail leg, but despite Ed being two limbs short and starved and weak, he was putting up a desperate fight.

_"STOP, NO MORE!"_ Ed was screaming, voice raw and feral, face twisted in tortured anguish and wet with frightened tears as he tried to wrench his limbs from the grips of those around him, sightless eyes wide. _"Get away from me! STAY BACK!"_

Roy's blood boiled at the sight. Maybe it was irrational, maybe this was just standard procedure, but they were scaring him, and Roy couldn't stand it.

He and Hawkeye both rushed forward. _"Fullmetal!"_ Roy snapped, voice sharp with authority. He hated to do it, hated to be so cold when all he wanted to do was cradle the boy against him and tell him everything would be okay, but the sharp command seemed to cut through the haze, reaching back to wherever he had locked away his rationality.

The response was instant; he froze, just like he had in the basement, as if he had forgotten why he had been struggling in the first place. The expression on his face became one of disbelief, then desperation. "Colonel?" he whispered, head angling toward his voice. "You . . . you . . ." He pulled his only arm away from the startled nurse, his hand stretching out, searching.

Roy shouldered roughly past the nurse, taking his place by the bedside and wrapping his hand around Ed's. Ed flinched violently at the contact, trying to pull his trapped hand away with a panicked whimper, but quieted when Roy said, "I'm right here, Ed."

The small hand gripped his impossibly tight, as if holding on for his life. "Don't leave," he begged, voice quiet and broken in about as many places as Roy's heart. His eyes were drooping as his small frame took a shuddering breath. "Can't stay awake . . . can't fight them, they'll come back, please don't leave . . ." He had been fighting sleep, fighting against the pull of anesthesia, but apparently a familiar voice was enough to make him relax enough to go under.

Roy swallowed thickly "I'm not going anywhere," he found himself saying, squeezing the boy's hand gently. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise . . . promise . . ."

"I promise."

Roy's quiet assurance seemed to satisfy the child. He gave a weak nod and his eyes closed. Roy waited a minute until his breathing evened out and the hand went limp in his before he turned to the three nurses, venom in his eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"

The men paled considerably, blinking at him with wide eyes. He stared at them until one found the resolve to answer. "We gave him the sedative, but his last dose started to wear off before the new one kicked in," the thin red headed kid explained, voice quivering. "He started thrashing, so we were trying to get him strapped down—"

"Tell me," Roy interrupted, his own voice quivering, but with barely suppressed rage, "is this whole hospital completely incompetent?"

All three blanched even further. "No, sir, we—"

"Get out of my sight. I want the head nurse down here." They didn't move. "_Now_," he snarled.

All three jumped, nearly tripping over themselves to get out the door.

The room fell into the closest things hospitals got to silence: the hum of air conditioning, the rattling of carts and chatter of nurses in the halls, the steady beep of the heart monitor. Suddenly all of Roy's rage— the anger and guilt he'd been nursing since Ed went missing, that had built to an inferno upon their arrival at the hospital— all left him in a rush. He dragged one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs from the wall and sank into it, never letting go of Ed's hand as he did. For some reason, he didn't want to let go. He wasn't sure if it was more for Ed's comfort or for his own.

"Sir?"

He glanced up at his lieutenant tiredly. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head, grabbing the only other chair for herself and dropping into it.

They sat there for a while, lost in their own thoughts as they stared at the blonde boy in the bed.

To say he looked awful would have been the understatement of the century . . . He was so _horribly_ thin, cheekbones jutting from his face and eyes sunken, the children's hospital gown swallowing him in its green expanse. His skin was pale and almost papery under Roy's hand, graced with scars and bruises. He looked like some kind of macabre jigsaw puzzle, stitches tracing across his body as if the threads were the only thing holding him together. The blonde locks were now clean, but dimmed somehow, their luster gone, and Roy's eyes were drawn to the swath of fabric encircling his small throat. He recalled how protective Ed had been of his neck, and wondered vaguely if some special attention had been paid to it by his captors.

"We have to get him back to Central," Roy found himself saying, almost absently, as he gently massaged the back of Ed's hand with his thumb, careful of the IV taped to it. "He can't stay here."

"It's probably not safe to move him yet, sir," Hawkeye said, but her voice said otherwise. She wanted him back home, too.

Roy shook his head. "I know doctors in Central. Doctors I trust. He needs to be someplace familiar, with familiar people. We'll have to go back to the office eventually, and I'm not letting him stay here. Not by himself."

Hawkeye nodded, the gesture seeming to neither agree nor disagree. "It will be a stressful move for him like this."

"He would be sedated the whole time. He wouldn't even know he'd moved until he woke up in Central."

She didn't respond, and Roy lost himself in his thoughts again. He tried to breathe deep, to dispel the numbness in his chest. He was probably in a bit of shock, still trying to process what had happened, as all of them were. Too much had happened to Ed, and they still didn't even know the extent of it. What horrors had he witnessed? What awful things had been done to him? Physical recovery was going to be hard enough, and there was no telling what kind of psychological damage had been wrought.

Ed was always so strong. He was energy and light, red and gold, nothing but conviction and passion. He could do anything, overcome any obstacle, but Roy wasn't so sure this time. Ed always claimed he wasn't small, that he wasn't a kid, but now Roy was torn. He wanted to believe that Ed was big enough, strong enough to take what had been dealt him and recover from it.

But Roy couldn't help but see how small he looked, how vulnerable, lying there like a broken toy, abused and discarded. How could a child recover from this? How could _anyone_ recover from this?

"Sir?"

The gentle hesitation in her voice made him turn to look at her. She looked tired, pale, and maybe her eyes glistened a bit, but she looked so beautiful and so _strong_, much stronger than Roy felt. "He'll be alright," she said with a warm smile, and though her voice shook, he could hear the conviction there. She had faith in Ed, she knew he would pull through this, just like he pulled through everything else.

Roy wished he had that faith, too. "I hope so," he whispered, turning back to the frail boy on the bed, trapped in artificial sleep, and he prayed that it was too deep for dreams.

* * *

_Oh my gosh, you guys, I could scream xD_

_I honestly didn't expect that many reviews and favs for just the first chapter! Thanks so much, guys! I'll try to respond to all the signed reviews (both for the first chapter and the last chapter of __**Heart**__), but that'll have to be tomorrow. Sometime when it's not three in the morning haha xD_

_One reviewer did ask something that I wanted to address, though, for everyone's sake. In the first chapter, Ed used alchemy to escape the first time, and they asked how he could do that if he didn't have his arm. Ed _can_ use alchemy without his arm. If nothing else, he proved that in the Barry the Chopper episode when he drew a circle on his chair to get lose C: He doesn't have to have the arm; as long as he makes the circle, be it by clapping it or drawing it, he can use his alchemy. So in the first chapter, he scratched a circle in the stone floor with his automail toe, then activated it. Hope that cleared some of that up! :)_

_Aaaanyways, hope you enjoyed! If you have the time, drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter! _

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	3. Chapter 3

Roy was able to get the boy out of there first thing the next morning.

Despite the nagging of the doctor and the recommendations of the head nurse and staff psychologist, Roy made the arrangements to transport him on the early train to Central. Ed was deeply sedated the whole time, sleeping away in the medical car while Roy and his team spent the restless hours in their private passenger car, poring over Ed's case file.

In the brief time his team had to investigate the crime scene, they had uncovered relatively little, and Roy couldn't help but be frustrated. The scene had been wiped clean, the perpetrators leaving nothing incriminating or useful behind except for one battered automail arm. He hoped that, once Ed was ready, he could give him more information about his captors, but he wasn't holding his breath. Who knew how long he had been blinded? He might not have even seen the room he was in, much less the faces of those responsible.

The train ride itself turned out to be unproductive, aside from heightening everyone's anxiety and frustration. The only conclusion they came to was that Ed's testimony was their only hope for a solid lead on anything.

Medical cars were given special privileges due to their often critical cargo, and the train was on a straight route to Central. They arrived before the sun came up early the next morning, tired and irritable, but glad to be back in warmer climate, especially Roy. Roy abhorred the cold.

After sending his team home and telling them to take the day off, he escorted Ed to the military hospital, and after they promised he would be kept sedated a while longer, he went home to take care of basic hygiene and catch some much needed sleep. He didn't really want to leave Ed there alone, but he was dead on his feet and the nurses gave him the ultimatum; go home or be admitted. He felt much better about leaving Ed in a hospital he could trust, though. He had been a patient there more times than he cared to think about and had at some point flirted with at least half of the nurses on staff. They were people he knew, and he rested a lot better knowing that.

It was late into the afternoon when Roy finally woke up and made himself presentable, dragging his exhausted body to the hospital.

He probably shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to find Hawkeye there in Ed's room, a box of paperwork at her feet as she forged his signature on some official document or another. A glance at the form in the bed told him Ed was still out cold.

Roy recovered quickly enough. He plastered a thin smile on his face, allowing her to move the stack of files from the only other chair and dropping heavily into it, nursing his cup of cheap hospital coffee as he did. "Isn't that illegal?" he asked, watching her scrawl his name with disturbing accuracy across a request form.

She didn't even look up. "What should be illegal is how long it takes you to get these done. Sir," she added.

A weary smirk tugged at his lips. "How long have you been here?"

"Not too long. He's off the sedative, so they're expecting him to wake up soon. Nothing else to report." Her voice was smooth, but Roy caught her worrying glance at the emaciated form on the bed.

His eyes drifted to the boy. Ed looked better in the afternoon light, his skin gaining some color back to it. The heart monitor still beeped steadily, and Roy wanted to think that the dark rings under his eyes had faded a bit. It was almost easy to fool himself into believing Ed was just asleep instead of forcibly kept under, as if he could wake up at any moment, golden eyes sharp and irritable and he would demand to know why the "Creepy Idiot Colonel" was watching him sleep.

Funny. What Roy had once found terribly annoying, he now wanted more than anything in the world.

"Any word from Alphonse?" he asked softly, unable to tear his eyes from Ed.

"He called your office yesterday, while we were away. I had told the secretary to have him come back to Central straight away if he called, so he should be on his way."

He almost smiled. Leave it to Hawkeye to think of everything. "Good. They're going to need each other."

Eventually, Hawkeye shifted a stack of papers into his lap, and with an exaggerated sigh, he accepted her proffered pen and began reviewing and signing, but it was halfhearted, at best. He honestly wasn't paying too much attention, and he absently hoped he didn't sign a declaration of war or something.

Every last scrap of his concentration evaporated when he saw Ed's fingers twitch.

He put his current paper aside, leaning forward to stare intently at the boy. Hawkeye had noticed, too, but she finished the document she was scanning before putting it down and watching with equal intensity.

The heart monitor picked up just a fraction as the boy was roused from his faux sleep and gently pulled into reality. Roy watched, heart hammering in his chest with hope and trepidation, as Ed's brow wrinkled, lips pulling down in a frown. His only hand curled into a fist, and his eyes slowly fluttered open.

They were pale and clouded and Roy felt a stab of nausea looking at them, the thought of what they would mean for Ed weighing down his very soul.

Roy was afraid to speak, afraid to startle him while he was in such a fragile, vulnerable state. He could only watch as Ed suddenly went tense, the bleary expression often associated with just waking up evaporating to reveal alarm. Ed quieted his breathing, listening, carefully curling his legs up protectively around him with only a small wince to acknowledge his many injuries. His hand wrapped around his throat as probably a million foreign sounds assaulted his ears.

"I hear your breathing," he whispered, voice small and shaking, his usual anger and defiance heartbreakingly absent. "Who's there?"

"It's us, Ed," Roy murmured softly, but his voice still startled the boy badly.

Ed flinched back away from the closeness of the sound, burrowing deeper into the back of the propped up bed, until recognition seemed to register on his face. He stopped, a cautious frown lining his face. "Colonel?" he asked.

One simple little word shouldn't be allowed to contain so much desperation.

"That's right," he answered, struggling to keep his voice light. "Hawkeye's right here with me."

Something unrecognizable flitted across his face, then it was gone, swallowed by caution. "Where are we?"

"You're at the military hospital in Central," Roy supplied. "We brought you back here yesterday. You slept through the whole thing."

A look of panic briefly crossed his face, and Roy wondered what it was about. "I . . . slept through it? I was moved halfway across Amestris and I didn't know it?"

Of course. For someone like Ed, control was everything. Freedom to _have_ that control was everything. His lifestyle required him to be informed and make difficult decisions for the best interest of him and his little brother. He had so many responsibilities, so much relying on him; that so much could happen to him, without his knowledge or consent, was probably a terrifying notion.

Roy struggled to find words to reply, to comfort him, but nothing came. Thankfully, Hawkeye saved him. "How are you feeling, Ed?" she asked, her voice warm.

Ed reacted to the new voice, not as badly as he had to Roy's, but it took him a second to look at ease with it. "I'm fine," he answered, closing his eyes, and though he didn't know why, it bothered Roy to see him forcibly uncurl himself, to hide how broken his body was, how afraid he felt. "Where's Al?"

Naturally that would be Ed's priority. Al was always Ed's priority, but Roy didn't want to tell him he was up north, in the same area Ed had been abducted from. That would do nothing good for him. "He should be here soon," he explained lamely.

Lame or not, it seemed to satisfy Ed, which also bothered Roy. Ed was never this easy to satisfy. Maybe he was hurting too much to question it.

Ed suddenly went very still, whole body tensing and face alert. Roy was about to ask what was wrong until he noticed his sightless eyes fixed near the door, where a doctor was standing, scribbling absently on a clipboard as if oblivious to the doorway he had stopped in.

"It's just the doctor, Edward," Hawkeye soothed, voice softer than petals.

Ed didn't relax, though. If anything, his anxiety seemed to heighten. "Doctor?" he whispered.

"Ah, Major Edward Elric!" the doctor said, his tenor voice jovial as he finally looked up from his clipboard and entered the room. He was a young man, maybe just a bit younger than Roy, with a trim build, auburn, shaggy hair, and sharp blue eyes that glistened with intelligence and a joy that was hard to fake.

Again, Ed flinched violently, pressing back into the pillow behind him as if he could stuff his whole body in its feathery mass and disappear.

If the doctor noticed Ed's obvious terror, he didn't comment on it. He stepped up to the bed, keeping up a steady stream of dialogue as he did. "My name is Doctor James Silas, but most people just call me Jim, which you are more than welcome to," he offered with a warm grin, as if he didn't know Ed couldn't see it. "So, what would you like me to call you? Major? Fullmetal? Mr. Elric?"

Ed blinked at the sudden invitation of his preference, his surprise seeming to chase away his caution for just a brief moment, long enough for him to uncurl himself slightly. "Ed is fine . . ."

Roy suddenly understood what the doctor's game was. He was constantly talking, making noise to let Ed track him. He was giving him the power over how to address him, something small yet meaning so much for someone like Ed. It was as if he knew how much Ed needed it without being told, and Roy had a sudden admiration for this doctor.

"Ha, very good!" he smiled, scribbling on his clipboard. His eyes jumped up to meet his and Hawkeye's. "You must be Colonel Roy Mustang, and Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, am I right? It is most certainly a pleasure! Well, now, I do have some things I need to ask Ed, and some of them are quite personal, but I'll leave it up to Ed on if he wants you both to stay. Either way is fine with me."

Roy glanced from the doctor to Ed. The boy blinked again, as if stunned he was allowed to make that kind of decision. Roy was almost certain he'd ask for them to stay, and Roy was ready to do it, but something closed on the boy's face, shutting down that fearful expression before it had a chance to take over his visage, and he shook his head. "No, they can go, but . . . Colonel?"

"What is it?"

"Will you . . . can you both wait outside? _Right_ outside?"

Roy knew what he was asking. He knew that Ed desperately wanted them to stay, but he still had some, small fractured bit of pride left in him that prevented him from asking, from having him so close for something so personal. He was terrified to be alone with a stranger, but more terrified still to need Roy's support.

Roy should have been pleased, should have been happy at this spark of the old Edward, but he couldn't help feel something cold settle in his gut. Something made of rejection and terrible guilt.

Perhaps Ed blamed him.

The thought hit him hard. It wasn't as if Roy didn't blame himself, hadn't been blaming himself for three months over what had happened, but it was somehow different if Ed knew, if that was how he felt.

And Roy couldn't blame him.

Roy forced a smooth smile to his face and nodded. "Very well, we'll be right out the door. Just call if you need us."

Ed nodded, and maybe it was just his imagination, but Roy thought he heard the heart monitor pick up and the boy's breathing escalate as he and Hawkeye left the room.

He shut the door on the doctor's bubbly voice, and leaned against the wall. He could hear the doctor babbling, then Ed's occasional monotone answer, but not enough to make out anything. As Ed's commanding officer, he would get the whole medical report anyway, so he wasn't too worried about eaves dropping.

He was just worried about the way Ed had asked him to leave.

"What are you brooding about, sir?" Hawkeye asked, her voice about as wry as it ever got.

He turned his head to give her a sidelong scowl. "I'm not _brooding_, Hawkeye."

"Whatever you say, sir," she said, obviously not believing a word he said.

He thought a moment, not liking the way his thoughts spiraled downward. "Do you think he blames me?"

Her delicate eyebrows knitted together as she came to lean against the wall beside him. "For what happened? Sir, he hasn't even had time to process, yet. This is the first time he's woken up mostly lucid. It's not fair for you to ask him to be himself. Not after what he's been through."

She had a power over him that no one else had. Their long history made her painfully easy to talk to, and it was as if Roy couldn't keep his thoughts to himself when he was alone with her. She was always his rock in the storm, his pillar of reason in an uncertain world. Even when he didn't say a word, even when he had his carefully crafted mask of stoicism in place, she could read his mind like an open book.

"That's the thing, Hawkeye," he said, fisting his hands and crossing them over his chest. "He shouldn't be kicking us out. He was scared to death, but he did it anyways. Like he blamed me for it and didn't want me around . . . which I suppose I deserve."

She didn't respond for a moment, and Roy knew she was agreeing with him. His guilt was obvious, just one more sin to add to his bloodstained gloves. He may as well have done the deed himself instead of sending Ed all the way up north and saved the State travel money.

"Perhaps it was a bad call," she agreed, her voice subdued as she stared at the pristine tiled floors. "But at fault or not, he needs you right now. Even if he can't admit it aloud, it's plain as day. So quit wallowing in your self-pity and be there for him. Sir," she added with a tight smile and a warm gaze.

Roy felt a weak smile tug at his own lips, but commotion in the room behind him made him pause. He couldn't make out any words, but he could plainly hear Ed's voice increasing in volume.

The door suddenly opened, and Doctor Silas' face leaned out, a gentle, worried look on it. "Ed wanted me to ask you if you would come back in for a moment." His words were polite, his tone even, but Roy saw the sad anxiety on his face, and heard Ed's pleas from behind, and Roy quickly pushed past him.

Ed was curled in on himself, his hand around his throat again. He had his eyes screwed shut, burying his face against the pillow, as if begging it to swallow him. "Where is he? Where's Al?" he asked, voice hopeless and broken.

"Fullmetal," Roy said, voice firm but kind. Inside, though, his guts were twisting. He hated to see Ed this way.

Ed responded like a moth to flame. The anguish on his face abated somewhat, and his eyes opened, hopelessly blank. "Colonel?" his hand started to unwind from his throat, but stopped, hesitating.

Roy knew what he was after. He placed gentle hand on the boy's bare shoulder. Ed flinched harshly, then released his neck long enough to latch on. Roy tried not to notice the tears leaking from his damaged eyes.

A weak, bitter laugh strangled its way from Ed's throat. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm sorry, I don't know how I got to be so pathetic."

_I know how. And I'm sorry._

"Don't worry about it, Fullmetal," Roy said, careful to keep his voice smooth. The doctor caught Roy's eye and made a gesture out to the hall. He nodded. "I have to go make a phone call, but I'll be right back." Ed went ridged under his hand, so Roy continued, "You should keep Hawkeye here, though. She'll just want to tag along to chew me out for cancelling my appointment again."

It was all a lie, something to save Ed his pride, and Roy could see the appreciation in those watery, pale eyes. He nodded, and with great hesitation, let go of Roy's hand, fisting the sheets next to his throat instead.

Roy followed the doctor out the door and Hawkeye quickly took his place at Ed's side, resting her gentle hand near his on the bed, close enough for Ed to know it was there and grab it if he needed to.

The doctor shut the door, blocking them from sight and Roy turned his attention to the man. "What was that about?"

Silas offered him a worn, sad smile. "I can only imagine. He's just gone through one of the worst things the human spirit can experience, and he's only a child. Think if you will what it might be like to be in pain ever since the day you were robbed of your sight. You've just yanked him from a dark reality and thrust him into a totally new environment."

Roy nodded. "He can't believe he's safe."

"He can't believe it, and he doesn't have the eyes to confirm it. The only safe points for him are what is familiar; things like you and the Lieutenant, your touch, your voices. He has post-traumatic stress disorder in the worst way, and he doesn't have the senses to properly determine what is real from the nightmares in his head. He needs to be around familiar things and familiar people, and I'm afraid this hospital just isn't going to do."

Roy eyed him suspiciously. "That's not what doctors are supposed to say. Doctors are supposed to dig in their claws and hang on for as long as possible."

A knowing smile crossed the younger man's lips. "Well, sometimes medicine isn't the answer. Sometimes it takes something more."

Roy decided that he liked this doctor. "What do you suggest for his treatment, then?"

"Well, I'd like for him to stay the week, if he can stand it, but we'll have to play that by ear. If we have to, we'll send him home and do house calls. He needs people he knows and trusts here at all times, if that can be done. I know you're a busy man, but he seems to respond very well to your presence."

Roy nodded. He would stick around as long as he could, as long as Ed would let him. At least until Alphonse arrived. "And then?"

"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, but he'll definitely be needing one. I would give him some time to adjust before calling one in, though, as long as he doesn't become a danger to himself or others. I can have our automail specialist look at his arm and leg, but it's probably best if he's sedated for that. I believe you recovered his original automail, correct? Good. I don't know much about automail, but his port looks like someone ran excessive amounts of electricity through it. It will require some pretty strenuous repair."

Roy ground his teeth together. The things they had done to him . . . "What about his neck?" he asked. "Why does he keep grabbing it?"

"Well, aside from the obvious chaffing from his restraints, the initial report states there were teeth marks around his throat, probably from the animals he was kept with."

Roy's blood ran cold. "One of those . . . _things_ went for his throat?" He couldn't get the image of Ed, lying in that cold basement, naked and blind and bleeding with one of those creatures attached to his neck, out of his mind. It would be terrifying at any other time, but when he was so weak and vulnerable . . . Roy suppressed a shudder.

Silas interpreted it as a rhetorical question. "It probably almost killed him, so he's naturally going to be very protective of it. I'd recommend not touching it without his expressed permission."

Roy nodded numbly. "What happens after he's out of the hospital?" When Ed was in Central, he stayed in the dorms with Al, but Roy wasn't sure he liked the idea of them being on their own in that kind of environment so soon.

"I'd recommend him staying someplace familiar, again with someone he knows. He's got a bumpy road ahead of him, and new things are just going to slow him down." He scribbled something on his clipboard. "Well, I have to finish my rounds for this evening, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll get a cot sent down for whoever will be staying the night with him," he said around a knowing smile.

Roy gave a smile of his own, offering his hand. "Thank you, doctor."

"Please, call me Jim, Colonel," he said, giving his hand a firm shake.

"Roy."

Jim nodded and turned away, bouncing down the halls with a spring in his step and a merry greeting for the nurse's desk. After visiting with a doctor like that, Roy couldn't help but feel a bit more optimistic, just a bit more hopeful, as he turned back to enter Ed's room.

"Colonel Mustang?"

An unfamiliar nurse approached him from the main desk, a folded piece of paper in her hands. "A message from Central Command."

He gave her a polite smile and took the paper. "Thank you."

She smiled back at him, casting a sad glance in the room behind him before walking away.

Roy sighed, unfolding the paper with trepidation, wondering what had gone wrong in his absence. He felt himself brighten considerably, though, upon reading its contents.

Alphonse had phoned in to tell them he was boarding the last train of his route. He would be in Central by dawn.

Optimistic indeed.

* * *

Ed couldn't stop the yelp that escaped his lips as he kicked his leg, trying desperately to get away from whatever had touched his foot. The dogs, they would never let him rest. He could almost feel their eyes on him, their cold, desperate hunger rolling from their wasted bodies in dark ripples. He protected his throat at all costs, the only thing that kept him breathing, even as he tried to fend off the beast and the cold panic that was suddenly burning through his veins.

"Whoa, Ed!" a startled voice cried, so close that he jumped even more. Someone was down there with him, coming for him. A warm hand clamped down on his flesh foot and he thrashed instinctively, his thoughts stuck on an endless, frantic loop.

_Get away. Get away, get away, get away!_

"Fullmetal, _stop that!"_

He froze, the loop of his thoughts collapsing into an unsupported mess as this new information flooded over him. He remembered, everything rushing back to him in a wave. He was in Central, in the hospital. The Colonel was here, he was safe. He had only been dreaming.

Unless, of course, this was the dream and the other was his true reality. He didn't know, and there was no way to be sure. He felt coarse fabric under his body, smelled antiseptics, but those things could be faked. That wasn't enough to know for sure. Without his sight, he was floating in a sea of blackness, lost and ungrounded. Even his pain, the only constant he knew, was dulled, made artificial somehow, and it scared him. He had always known he was awake by how much everything hurt, but now even that certainty was gone.

All he had now was this familiar voice, a voice that could just be his fractured mind playing cruel tricks.

His heart pounded. He didn't know. He couldn't see, so he _couldn't_ know. He pressed his body against the soft mass behind him, pulling his legs up around him, struggling to find something to latch onto, to ground him.

The hand was back, this time on the skin of his arm. He flinched, the reflex drilled into him, touch long associated with pain, but Mustang's soft voice came to him. "Shh, Ed. Everything's fine."

That voice, that hand, this had to be real. If it wasn't, his mind was doing an awfully good job faking it. He smelled a faint, spicy scent, like earth and mesquite, a balm to his frantic thoughts, and he allowed the hand anchor him in the world, giving the pressure on his bicep his undivided attention. Just something so the dark world would stop spinning around him.

He slowly got his breathing under control, inhaling and exhaling slowly, like Teacher had taught him.

"Are you alright?" Mustang asked. Ed heard the trepidation in his voice, the worry.

_The pity._

He hated this. He hated being so afraid, so unsure. His pride, everything he was, had died somewhere back in that basement, and he didn't know if it could be brought back. All that was left of him now was this pathetic excuse of an existence, helpless and skittish and painfully isolated. Half the time he couldn't tell the present from the past, and he still wasn't sure he was entirely convinced of what he was sensing.

He wanted to get up, to leap from the bed. He wanted to run outside and scream and shout his frustration to the world, to track down the people who did this to him and rip them apart.

But as it was, he was quailing at the sound of his superior's voice, jumping every time a nurse passed by his door or when the air conditioning kicked on.

He was pathetic and he could feel it destroying him.

"Ed?" the Colonel questioned, the earlier worry turning into something a touch more urgent, the hand on his shoulder squeezing gently.

"I'm fine," he muttered, wishing vainly that he had the strength to push the Colonel's hand away, to tell him to take his pity and get away from him. But the hand was his anchor, and he simply couldn't release it, much less ask for Mustang to leave.

Much to his shame, the Colonel seemed to sense it. He didn't move his hand, and if anything, the voice sounded closer. "If that's what 'fine' looks like, I don't want to see you when you've had a bad day." There was just the barest trace of humor in his voice, but it was sad, a far cry from their usual banter. Like he was going easy on him, just because he was hurt and blind.

But Ed didn't have it in him to dredge up an insult. He realized suddenly that his eyes were open, and let them close. He was ashamed of them. They were a testimony to how horribly he had failed, how far he had fallen. Besides, it wasn't like they were doing him any good open anyways. "I'm fine. Sorry I woke you up." He was waiting, almost fearfully, for the hand to move and Mustang to go back to his cot on the other side of the room.

The hand still rested there, still tethering him to the moment. "Don't be ridiculous, Fullmetal. I walked all the way over here. I'm going to stay a while."

A weak smile made his lips twitch, but it felt pitiful where it sat on his lips. "Lazy old man."

Mustang let out a faintly amused snort. "Annoying brat."

No one spoke for a moment, and Ed was starting to hear things, scrapings and clicks and whispers that threatened to take his mind back to that basement, so he focused on the hand on his arm, the gentle whisper of Mustang's breathing, the earthy scent of him, willing his mind to the present. "How long was I gone?" he asked, desperate for another hold to the moment, even if it wouldn't last.

Mustang seemed to hesitate, though Ed wasn't sure. He could have just missed the question, but there was some interruption of his breathing that told him Mustang had heard the question and wasn't comfortable with it. "Almost three months."

Three months? That was it? It had seemed like an eternity, a lifetime. He felt like he had been in the dark forever. "Was Al . . . was he okay?"

"He was fine, Ed," Mustang assured him, a little too hurriedly.

Ed didn't trust his answer. "You're lying," he stated.

The hand on his shoulder twitched uncomfortably. "I'll let him fill you in. He'll be here in a few hours."

Ed still wasn't pleased, but he nodded. "Fine."

The pause grew too long, and his mind started to drift. He was tired, he knew. He was completely exhausted, but he didn't want to try to go back to sleep. He hated sleep. It was too much of a blurring of the lines between reality and nightmare, and he wanted to stay here where he was, relatively safe from the demons in his head.

At least, he thought so, until he felt the sheet over him shift and panicked. He hissed, yanking his arm from Mustang's grip to swipe out at whatever had touched him, only panicking further when his hand met only air and he couldn't find what it was, what had touched him.

"It's okay, Ed! It was just the sheet settling," Mustang assured him with a strained tone, reattaching his hand to his shoulder.

Ed gritted his teeth, shame and exhaustion tearing through his body.

He had tried to attack a bed sheet.

He hated this _so much._

How weak he must look. How _pathetic_. And this was what his little brother was going to see. After his big brother missing for months, he would come back to find _this_ in his stead. Would Al even recognize him?

And just how long would the Colonel stick around? Whether Ed admitted it to anyone or not, he was an important man, and he had important things to do. It was foolish for him to be here now. Ed was no good to him anymore. Without his eyes, he was less than useless, and it didn't take a prodigy to see that.

He was ashamed for Mustang to see him like this. Ashamed, but too afraid to tell him to leave.

So pathetic.

"Ed?"

"Just go back to sleep, Mustang," he said, his voice heavy and broken, even to his own ears.

Mustang sighed, a quiet whisper of sound. He squeezed Ed's arm one more time before letting go. Ed tried to regulate his breathing as he did, listening to the Colonel's soft footfalls as he moved across the floor, the creak of cheap springs and the stiff rustle of sheets as he climbed and settled into his bed.

Ed tried to focus on Mustang's breathing, but soon even that was too difficult. Like a boat being untethered and set adrift, Ed floated in the inky blackness, waiting for the next nightmare to rear its ugly head and drag him under.

Praying Al would hurry.

* * *

_Long chapter is long xD The last scene wasn't supposed to be there, but I was feeling like some more Ed angst (as if this thing isn't drowning in it) so I tacked it on C: Hope you enjoyed that haha xD_

_I like Dr. James Silas :D He just sort of manifested and wrote himself. I can tell you that his name is from Paul's traveling companion in the book of Acts in the Bible (the book I'm currently reading, so I guess it was fresh in my mind). And I suppose he's sort of based off of Dr. Who, just a bit. But he kind of arrived out of the blue and behaved that way . . . love when OCs do that :D_

_Poor Ed. I'm such a meanie :C _

_I'll reply to all the signed reviews from last time tonight/tomorrow (and I promise I'm getting to those on Heart!). Again, thanks to everyone who is reading, and a special thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. I'm holding you guys personally responsible for the speed of this update haha ;)_

_Drop a review, if you have the time, and I'll see you next chapter!_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	4. Chapter 4

Had Al possessed a human body, he would have probably been shaking. As it was, his soul was quivering with nervous energy that demanded to be burned somehow, and the walk from the train station to the hospital didn't seem to help. He wrung his gauntlets together, shifting restlessly side to side as the elevator slowly rose from the first floor to the second.

Three months. It had been _three months_ since his brother had left the dorm with a suitcase slung over one shoulder and a smile on his face. He had told Alphonse not to worry, that he would see him in one week tops, and then they could get back to the "stuff that actually matters." Then he walked out the door, and disappeared.

Those months had been a numb blur for Al. He had visited every town, every farm, every abandoned shack. His metal body was beaten and rusted, his gauntlets worn. He didn't have time to stop for self-maintenance, though, not with Ed missing. He had called the Colonel often to see if he had heard anything, but was always met with disappointment, and every day, he could feel his soul slowly crushing under the strain of it, the anguish.

The guilt.

What kind of little brother couldn't save their missing sibling? Did Ed blame him? Ed had probably thought that Al gave up, was just going to leave him to rot in some prison cell or ditch on the side of the road. Or maybe he was scared that Al had abandoned him, welcomed the chance to be rid of him. Or had he just accepted that Al was better off without him and gave up?

All of those possibilities drove him, fueled his desperation as he tore apart the countryside. He had been at the very border when he found a phone. He was about to cross into Drachma, and he hadn't been sure if he would have access to a phone again for a very long time. Drachma was dangerous. It could get him killed, but he had exhausted his options in Amestris, and if there was even the slightest chance Ed was there, he was willing to risk it.

But when the Colonel's secretary had said to come straightaway, he knew. She didn't have to say why, because Al felt it in his soul. It was like seeing the sun rise after an endless night, and if Al could have cried, he would have.

That was two days ago. Two days was enough time to worry about what condition he would find Ed in.

The nervous energy was about to shake him apart from the soul out as the elevator finally settled at the second floor and let out a merry _ding_, doors sliding open.

He almost collided with Mustang in his haste.

"Alphonse," Mustang greeted, taking a calculated step back from the suit of hard metal and dangerous spikes.

"Sorry, sir," he apologized quickly. "Where's Ed?" He started to brush past the Colonel, but was halted by a hand on his chest plate.

"Alphonse, we need to talk."

"In a minute, sir. I need to see Ed," he insisted, the faint beginnings of hysteria creeping into his voice as he again tried to push past him. It had been three months. Talks could wait until after he had seen his brother with his own eyes.

"Alphonse."

Something in the Colonel's voice stopped Al cold. He turned slowly to face Mustang, really looking at him this time. The man was bedraggled, dressed in rumpled trousers and a wrinkled shirt. He was pale and his dark hair was an untidy mess on his head. One thing Mustang prided himself on was his appearance. He was the definition of immaculate, and the fact that he looked like something the cat dragged in set off alarm bells in Al's head.

But probably the most distressing thing of all was the Colonel's eyes. At the surface, they appeared calm and collected, but Al had spent years observing the Colonel, watching those eyes, and though they seemed strong and resilient, Al saw the haunted look there, a trepidation and an anguish that couldn't be described with words.

Al stopped. "Sir . . ."

"Come with me."

The Colonel led Alphonse down the quiet hallway to a small waiting room. The sun was just beginning to paint the horizon a pale pink outside, softening the room in a delicate, hallowed sort of silence. It was far from comforting, though; it reminded Al of their mother's graveside. It was haunting, and Al didn't like the way Mustang watched him, observing him as if he were a ticking time bomb.

The Colonel continued to study him, not speaking as his eyes raked over his dented and scarred suit, as if trying to determine if Al himself was alright. Al felt his notoriously infinite patience trickling away. Ed was on this floor, probably less than a hundred feet away, and the Colonel was here wasting the time Al could be spending with him.

_"What is it?"_ he snapped. Maybe he would be ashamed of that later, of nearly biting off Mustang's head when he had saved his brother and was only showing concern for Alphonse, but right now he had to get to Ed, and Mustang was standing in his way.

Mustang flinched, as if catching himself. He took a deep breath and looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze cautious. "You know we found Ed."

Alphonse wanted to scream. Of course he knew they found him! Why else would he be here?! Some small, muted part of him that still held fast to manners made him keep his mouth shut, though, and only offer a nod in response.

"There are some things you need to know before you go in there, Alphonse."

And he told him.

And never had Alphonse wanted to cry more for his brother.

* * *

It took Alphonse almost half an hour to regain control of himself. If he had possessed a human body, it would have taken much longer.

Finally, when he was ready, the Colonel put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and guided him to Ed's room.

The Colonel had warned him that Ed might panic at the sound, that he might shy and try to get away from him at first, but as soon as Al rounded the corner, Ed was sitting up, propped on his only arm and sightless eyes fixed on the doorway.

"Al?" he whispered.

Alphonse knew everything about that voice. He knew every inflection, every tone, but this was new. Ed's voice sounded dry, almost painful, as if he hadn't used it for more than screaming in a very long time, and it made Al wish he could cry. There was a desperate edge to it, too, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

And fear. Ed's voice should never sound like that . . . "Al, is that you?"

If he had been human, he wouldn't be able to stifle his tears.

As it was, he just felt his soul break.

Ed's eyes, once golden and beautiful, were a cloudy shade of withered leaves and bleached sand.

"Al?" he asked again, desperation escalating to near panic. He looked to be about a breath away from leaping out of bed.

"I'm here, Brother." Just because he didn't have a body didn't mean he didn't have emotions. He choked on his, the sentence barely making it from his metal body. "I'm here."

The corners of Ed's eyes softened and Al saw tears glisten. _"Al,"_ he choked.

With some difficulty, Al wrenched his body from its position frozen in the doorway and flew to Ed's side. "Brother, I'm here," he said again. Ed's hand was reaching, searching through the air, so Al let him touch his gauntlet, afraid to do anything more.

But Ed latched onto his glove like a lifeline, tugging him closer to the bed and trying to get his arm around Al's metal waist.

"Careful, Fullmetal," Roy cautioned from the door, voice oddly soft. Al had never heard him address Ed like that before. "You'll hurt yourself."

Ed ignored him completely, whipping off the covers in frustration and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Brother, don't—" Ed was out of bed before Al could get the sentence out, leaning heavily against Alphonse, clinging to his armor with his only hand, the tears coming freely now.

_"Al,"_ Ed whispered, burying his face into Al's side. "I'm so glad . . . I thought—"

Without warning, his legs buckled underneath him. Al caught him before he hit the floor, gently lifting his older brother into his arms and cradling him close, not ever wanting to let go. If Ed had been himself, he would never have allowed such contact, but he wrapped his hand around Al's collar tightly, like a child might latch onto a parent. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Al was glad Ed was allowing him to hold him. It almost quieted the panic in his soul, the tension in his metaphoric heart.

"I thought I'd never see—" Ed cut the sentence off abruptly, face twisting into an anguished look. The slip up was not lost on Al. "I mean, I . . . you're here, Al. You're here, and that's all that matters," he said decidedly, tears streaming down his face as he pressed his cheek to Al's chest plate. Al wished he could feel it.

"No, _you're_ here, Brother. That's all that matters," Al whispered, holding the delicate body as tightly as he dared.

Ed shook his head, a watery smile lighting his face the barest bit.

Alphonse wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. He was vaguely aware of Mustang leaving with Havoc in tow, though Al didn't know when Havoc got there, or if perhaps he had been there all along. A nurse walked in at one point, but was dragged back out by a pale hand that looked suspiciously like the Colonel's. The sun rose high in the sky, but Al didn't let go. They didn't say anything, but neither of them needed to. Ed just clung to him, and Al just held him and they simply _were_.

They were finally together as they should be.

* * *

Al finally managed to convince Ed to get back in bed, but only by staying by the bedside with one enormous hand wrapped around Ed's, the way Mustang said Ed needed it. Al didn't necessarily understand it yet, but he trusted the Colonel's judgment.

After releasing him, Al got a chance to look over his big brother, and he didn't like what he saw. Ed's normally tanned skin was pale and marred by stitches and bruises, and his hair was a tangled, limp mess instead of the neat braid he usually kept it in. He was so thin, ribs clearly visible under the cheap hospital gown, and even as Al watched his shoulder port seeped a small rivulet of blood where it met the skin, staining the bed sheets a horrible crimson from the recent strain.

But his eyes . . . those were by far the worst.

Al knew Ed. He knew him almost better than he knew himself. Ed was the kind of person that had to be doing something to feel useful. He was someone that needed a battle to fight, to do something physical and active and dangerous, and a goal to channel all of it towards.

More than that, Ed saw that his little brother needed him, and he tried his best to be everything that Al needed: a brother, father, mother, a friend and teacher, the disciplinarian, the rule maker and the rule breaker. Without a doubt Ed was the rock of their small, fractured family. He always tried to fill in all the roles that had been vacated in their lives, accepting challenging responsibilities forced upon him when he was barely seven.

Ed was also prideful, almost to a fault. He was fiercely independent, always needing to do things for the both of them all by himself. He accepted no charity, no help. He lived his life by Equivalent Exchange, and he wouldn't accept what he felt he hadn't earned.

And now all of that was jeopardized. There was no sense denying it. What those men had done to him, they compromised everything Ed was. They compromised his independence, his pride, his self-sufficiency. They compromised the only thing he wanted most in the world; the ability to find the Philosopher's Stone and get their bodies back, all in one felled swoop.

Edward without independence, without a purpose, was a terrifying thing to contemplate. Al had witnessed it firsthand, when they had tried to bring their mother back. When everything they had worked and sacrificed for came crashing down around them. Confined in that wheelchair, the look in Ed's eyes was much the same as it was now; raw, haunted, despaired.

There was something else there, though. Something Al only rarely caught glimpses of, but it always made his heart stop when he did. It was an expression that looked so foreign on Ed's face that Al wanted to wipe it away, to tell Ed to stop, it was scaring him.

It was fear. And fear was the last word Al associated with Ed. It wasn't like the quick, starting fear you feel for dark alleys and Homunculi, or even the desperate edge of possibly loosing someone close to you. It was something much deeper, much more broken. It was like the kind you see in the eyes of abused dogs.

"Hey, Al?" Ed murmured, unable to disguise a quiet edge of desperation in his voice, as if he were afraid Al wouldn't answer.

Al gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "What is it, Brother?"

The gesture seemed to take some of the tension from his face and he closed his sightless eyes with a slow, steadying breath. "Nothing," Ed responded with a small shake of his head. "Nothing."

Al stared at his brother, taking in the pained lines on his face. "Liar."

A feeble smile flitted across his face, like catching the reflection of the sun in a mirror, then it was gone. "Are you okay?"

It was a long moment before Al regained the ability to speak. Was _he_ okay? After all Ed had been through, he wanted to know if _Al_ was okay? "Don't be stupid, Ed. You have a lot more to worry about right now."

Muted gold eyes opened, a tiny frown appearing between them. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, Al," he chastised lightly, his pale hand stroking Al's leather gauntlet. "Your gloves are worn out."

Al found himself laughing, a shrill, almost hysteric sound. "I'll let you fix me up as soon as you get your arm back."

Ed's expression immediately closed. Al recognized it. It was the look he got when he was trying to protect Al from something, something that might hurt him to know. "I don't think that's a good idea."

If Al had possessed eyebrows, he might have frowned. "What do you mean?"

He turned his head away from Al, up to the ceiling, mouth turned down into a grimace as if finding the words was painful. "You know as well as I do that alchemists need to actually see what they're transmuting, Al," he said, voice muted. "I'm not risking you for something as silly as maintenance. You can do it yourself, it'll just be a pain."

Al didn't miss the longing in his voice. One of the things they stopped to do, just the two of them, was maintenance. The time was special to them both, one of the rare times they were forced to slow down and just focus on each other and not the problems of the world around them. There was a level of vulnerability and trust to having metal bodies repaired and automail limbs oiled and cleaned that made talking that much easier. Some of their most meaningful conversations had taken place while performing maintenance on the other, and Ed was grieving for it.

"We can talk about it later, Brother," Al assured him. "I think you need to rest now."

Again, that awful fear flared behind his eyes, and it didn't dim like it was supposed to. "I'm not tired," he insisted.

Was it wrong of Al to be despaired that his brother could no longer hide such a un-Ed-like emotion like fear? Before, if Ed had felt afraid, he would cover it easily behind his blasé comments and his cocky grin, but that armor had been broken, pierced and destroyed from abuse no one should have to endure. All he had now was a tortured soul, laid bare and vulnerable with no way to hide it.

But maybe that was Al's job now. Ed had always taken such good care of him, doing the best he knew how to make sure Al was protected and safe. Maybe it was Al's turn to step up, to be there for his brother now that he couldn't do it himself.

Maybe it was Al's chance to pay Ed back for all he'd done.

Al made a decision in that moment. He was going to get Ed's eyesight back. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he couldn't let his brother continue living like this. He knew in his heart that Ed would never be happy this way, even if he ever recovered enough to the point to pretend to be.

He would fix this, somehow.

Ed seemed to sense Al's thoughts. "Al? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Brother," he promised, hoping he could hear the smile in his voice. "Go to sleep, Ed. I know you're tired. I'll be here when you wake up."

Ed sighed heavily. "Okay." He rolled gingerly onto his side, taking Al's hand with him. He held it close to his chest and let his eyes close. "I'm glad you're here, Al."

Al almost choked on his words, soul smiling softly. "I'm glad, too."

* * *

_Don't worry, Edo! Al will save you! :D /shot/_

_Shorter chapter than last time . . . hope that's okay haha. I found this chapter emotionally draining to write for some reason, so I felt the need to cut it off before it sucked my soul dry. Maybe it was all the feels? Or maybe because I found it really challenging to write . . . I dunno, I hope everything turned out believable, regardless. _

_I'll reply to all the signed reviews from the last chapter tonight/tomorrow, and if you're still waiting to hear back from me on your reviews on __**Heart**__, I WILL have them responded to by my next update here. It's silly it's taken me this long, so I apologize profusely -.- I've been insanely busy with commissions and play practice, and that silly thing called "life" that likes to slap me in the face every time I get a break, so unfortunately things like that get stuck on the back burner, and they shouldn't. It shall be remedied._

_Thanks for all of your wonderful support! Each and every view/favorite/review means the world to me :) So do drop a review if you would, and I'll see you next chapter :D_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, Ed had to be taken out of the hospital a mere two days later.

Doctor Silas had suggested it, and Roy couldn't say that he disagreed with his assessment. Since he was stable, and was scheduled to be off the IV, there really was no reason to keep him there aside from wound care and his pending automail repair. Though it wasn't ideal, it was probably the safest option. The busy, chaotic environment was simply too much for Ed in his current state. He wasn't sleeping well at all, and he seemed to be in a constant state of alertness. Silas said such a state would only slow his physical and emotional healing, and that was the last thing he needed right now. Though he still needed more care, Silas said that with the team willing to pitch in and with daily house calls, Ed could recover faster in a more peaceful environment.

This, of course, left the question of where he was going to stay.

Roy still wasn't at ease with them being in the barracks, but there just wasn't a better place for them. Havoc and Breda shared a flat that was simply too far from the hospital, Falman and Feury stayed in the barracks, and Hawkeye had only a small apartment that wouldn't be able to accommodate Al. His home was completely out of the question. His relationship with Ed was strained on the best of days, and he doubted the boy would take well to staying in his home for any stretch of time in his current state.

And besides all of that, Silas insisted that he would do much better in a familiar environment. Alphonse immediately latched on to this idea, saying that Ed would be much more at ease in their old dorm and he could take care of his own brother just fine.

Roy was starting to get the gnawing impression that Alphonse was becoming jealous of the role he had in Ed's care. Since the boys had no family to speak of, and since he was Ed's commanding officer, he became the legal guardian in these instances and all decisions regarding Ed's care fell to him. Al made it a point to voice his opinion frequently and strongly, and did so with a challenging glare Roy's way.

It was undeniable that Ed and Al had a special relationship, their bond made unbreakable by hardship and loss no children should have to endure. They were all each other had, so Roy supposed it was only natural for Alphonse to become even more protective, more distrustful, when the very cornerstone of his whole world had shattered.

With lack of a better option, Roy signed the release form and transferred Ed back to his old dorm.

Needless to say, Ed didn't take the stress well. Silas wanted to avoid sedating him and putting the extra strain on his fragile system, but when Ed nearly punched an orderly's lights out and cracked the rib of another with his automail foot, all before they even got off the second floor, Silas had no choice but to put him under.

Once Ed was sedated, the trip was relatively uneventful. They quickly made it out of the hospital and left all the nurses and doctors behind. Havoc drove while Al held Ed in the back of Roy's car, his emaciated body swathed in blankets that moved gently with his shallow breathing. There, cradled in his little brother's arms and deep in artificial sleep, Roy decided it was the most peaceful he had seen him look since is rescue.

They arrived at the barracks, and Al carried his brother down the long corridor to their dorm. Mustang couldn't help but be surprised at how tidy the place was. Here and there an article of clothing was draped over a chair, or a few files were strewn on the floor, but overall, everything was neat and clean. If he had to guess, though, he would bet it was Alphonse's doing.

They put him to bed, and though Roy wished he could, he didn't have time to wait for Ed to wake up before he had to leave. He had spent far too much time away from his office over the past week and besides, he had an appointment to keep.

Though he would be lying if he said he wouldn't call to cancel it if he could.

He stepped into the Fuhrer's office, saluting smartly as he did. "Sir."

"Ah, Colonel Mustang," Bradley greeted with a warm smile and a casual salute from behind his grand desk on the other side of the room. His office was naturally the largest on base, making Mustang's own office feel like a janitor's closet in comparison. The windows behind the Fuhrer reached almost to the high ceiling, letting in a cheery stream of golden sunlight to wash over the desk and its occupant. The light, however, did nothing to dissipate Mustang's apprehension. "At ease, soldier," the Fuhrer said. "Won't you sit down?"

Roy marched up to the desk, seating himself rigidly at the edge of a chair in front of his superior. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, I did," the older man said, pushing aside a stack of papers and propping his elbows on the desk's polished surface. He leaned forward and fixed his only eye on Roy, and though his expression appeared open, Roy didn't like the sense of unease creeping up his spine. Being around the Fuhrer always put him on edge for some reason, but this was something else. This was the sensing of bad news. "I hear you found Fullmetal. I'm relieved to hear you got him back here safely."

_Safe is a relative term._

"Yes, sir, we are pleased to have him back," Roy answered politely, but though his words were respectful, his mind was working overtime to puzzle out the true nature of this meeting. Granted Ed was a well-known and prized alchemist for the military, but Roy found it odd that the Fuhrer was getting involved at this point, after Ed's rescue.

"I'm sure," Bradley nodded. "Though of course, I hear his state is rather delicate. Your report stated he was badly tortured, even blinded."

Roy hated how he just _said_ it, like it was just a strange happening and not a crippling, life-shattering event. He kept his mouth shut and only offered a stiff nod, lest he say something he regretted.

"This presents us with a problem, Colonel," Bradley continued, folding his hands before him. "To be harsh, the military has no use for soldiers that can't fight, and I'm afraid that Fullmetal is no longer capable of fulfilling his duties. The paperwork is currently being sent to your office for his discharge. I trust you'll see to it personally?"

_Discharged._

_Discharged_ _. . . Ed . . ._ _discharged_ . . .

That word . . . it wasn't fair that a word so simple could abolish so much.

Roy honestly hadn't even thought of it. How stupid could he _be?!_ There was no way Ed could be allowed to stay in the military with a handicap like that!

But this . . . this was all Ed had left, his only hope of getting their bodies back. What would this do to him? The boy was already at the end of his rope, and with this last bit of his old life slipping away, what would be left for him to hold on to?

It was the final nail in the coffin, and Roy felt his chest go numb. He swallowed thickly, but his voice was steady when he replied, "I'll take care of it, sir."

Bradley nodded, mouth turned down sympathetically. "He has a long road ahead of him, but his time in the military has been quite lucrative. I'm sure he won't have much trouble in that regard."

Roy had all but tuned him out at this point. He could feel his hands shaking. "Sir," he murmured, a frail sort of agreement, but it was all he could muster.

The older man offered him a small, sad smile. "That is all, Colonel. I am truly sorry. Dismissed."

Roy barely got his feet under him, bringing a hand up to his forehead in a stiff salute before leaving on shaky legs.

_Discharged . . . discharged . . ._ The word chased itself around the inside of his head in an infinite, despairing loop. How was he going to tell Ed? How was he going to tell him that his last and best chance of restoring their bodies was gone?

Ed was all but destroyed now, but there was a very real chance that this could finish the job.

When Roy got back to his office, he ignored the soft greetings of the men and woman under his command. He walked past the front office and closed his door, then put his head down on his desk and closed his eyes.

* * *

Ed had been back in their dorm for almost a week. It was almost strange being in an environment that was once so familiar to him when he could see it. Ed recalled it almost as well as their old house in Resembool. He remembered it was small, nothing more than a glorified shoe box, really. The dorm had a small kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom, leaving only just enough room in the living area for two single beds on opposite walls and his desk, with a hole of a closet in the corner for their meager belongings. There was a window on the far wall that faced West, and Ed recalled with a stab of longing that he used to enjoy watching the sun set over the military grounds from his desk in front of it. The walls of the dorm were beige and at one time barren, but Al had long ago decided it was too depressing and had begun tacking post cards and maps around the room to bring some life to them, adding something new every time they returned from their travels.

It was small and crowded, but this was where he and Al spent most of their time when they were in Central. In a small, sad sort of way, it was home.

Not so much anymore.

Yes, there were certainly things that made the environment the same, familiar place it once was. The scents helped more than anything: the smell of iron from Al's suit, the clean, bright scent of the soap Winry had given him, and the dusty, thick smell of carpet and a room well lived in.

But there were things about it that had become foreign and unnerving, and in a strange way, it stung him. It felt as if somehow, the room itself had betrayed him. It was much quieter than the hospital was, but that was a double edged sword in itself, making the noises that were there that much more startling, that much more threatening. And the room itself, one that Ed once thought entirely too small, felt enormous. He had tried to walk from his bed to the kitchenette, only to become disoriented seconds later, that awful floating feeling stealing over him until his breath only came in quick, strangled gasps and he had to sit down and curl up on the floor, holding his throat until Al found him and gently guided him back to bed.

Ed hated that. He hated how his mind wondered, how the smallest of things jolted him back to that basement; cloth would swish and he could hear wolves padding through the dark like a whispered breeze, or an injury would flair and he could feel one inch nails being driven between his ribs, almost hear the cruel laughs of his captors as they tore him apart . . .

"Brother?" Al asked from Ed's side.

Ed pressed his body against Al's armor, trying to ground himself in the moment, to force himself to feel where he was. He was safe, in his dorm. It was night time, undoubtedly well after midnight, and Al had probably thought he was asleep. But Ed hated sleep these days, and the best he could manage was closing his eyes until his exhaustion was too great to fight. It seemed that Al had found him out, though. "What is it?"

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, his voice worried as it always was these days. "You're shaking."

Ed forced his lips into a fragile smile. "I'm fine. Just a little cold in here."

Al hesitated a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to bed, Brother?" he asked. "It'll be warmer and you'll probably be more comfortable—"

Ed shook his head, tightening his grip on Al's weathered knee, as if afraid Al would force him to go. In all honestly, his body couldn't seem to adjust to the idea of a bed anymore, even after being in the hospital. The softness of it made him unstable, like he was drifting. There was nothing solid to hang on to, and it was too easy to let his mind wonder to images and memories he'd rather not think on.

Besides, he wanted to be as close to his little brother as possible. He much preferred sleeping on the floor, buried under a pile of blankets with his back pressed to Alphonse's side.

He felt his brother move and couldn't help but tense when the blankets over him shifted. Al wrapped the cloth about him tighter, then put a huge arm around him, holding him close.

Something about that small gesture made Ed sick.

He was so weak, so pathetic, and here Al was, holding him together. It was _his_ job to be the caretaker, the guardian, and now Alphonse had to do it for him. When had their roles been reversed? When did Al become the big brother?

Alphonse shouldn't have to do that . . . he had already lost so much, and now, in a way, he had lost his big brother, too.

Ed just kept letting him down.

"Brother," Al began, the sound vibrating through his metal body. Ed had never noticed it so much until now, when his sight was gone. The suit hummed every time Al spoke, and Ed leaned into it, relishing the direct link to his little brother, as if he were feeling Al's very soul vibrate. "I've been thinking . . ." he trailed off, hesitating.

Ed hated how Al had to walk on eggshells around him, and he hated it even more that he knew he needed it. "About what?"

"Well, I wanted to go to the library and do some research sometime soon. Maybe in the morning or something," he said slowly, as if confessing a great sin.

Ed felt his own body go ridged, as if that were exactly what Al had done. The thought of Al being gone for any length of time seemed unbearable. He had just gotten back to his little brother. He wasn't ready to let him out of arms reach yet . . . "Oh?" he asked, trying vainly to sound indifferent, but the word came out choked.

"It wouldn't be long. Just an hour or so to find some books, but if you don't want me to, I understand. It can wait," he said, the last part rushed, probably sensing Ed's growing anxiety.

Ed took a calming breath, in and out slowly. "No, Al. You go if you want to. I'm sure I'll be fine for that long." He tried to sound teasing, but it came across weak. Really, though, he couldn't just expect Al to stick around the dorm all day, taking care of him like some kind of nurse. He couldn't expect everyone else's world come to a halt just because his had.

"Hey, it might be a good opportunity for the Colonel to come visit," he suggested brightly. "He's had to get caught up on a lot of work, so he has never been able to stay very long when Doctor Silas visits, but I bet he wouldn't mind coming over for a while."

Ed was torn. One part of him, the old Ed, was enraged at the implication that he couldn't take care of himself, even with this new hindrance. He had suffered handicaps before and managed to do most things by himself just fine.

The other part of him though, this new creature that cowered from unexpected thumps and unfamiliar voices, was terrified at the thought of being left alone for any amount of time. Who was going to pull him back from the nightmarish images in his head when he lost touch with reality? Who would save him when the monsters lurking in the darkness of his mind tried to overtake him?

"I don't need a babysitter," he said, but the protest was weak at best. He felt his cheeks flush with shame. It was one thing to be weak and vulnerable in front of his brother. It was a blow to his pride certainly, but Al had seen him at his worst before and, Ed hoped, would love him regardless.

Mustang, on the other hand . . . the man who constantly mocked and belittled him, who sent him out on wild chases and false leads and wasted his time on worthless missions. For him to see him like this, a ghost of himself, was nearly unbearable. Mustang was someone he had always tried to show up, to prove to him that he could be a dog of the military, but no one would ever own him, and that he could get their bodies back, despite his past mistakes.

With the proof of his failure burning fresh in his sightless eyes, Ed didn't know if he had the courage to be alone with Mustang again.

"I'm not saying that!" Al objected quickly. "It'll just be a good time for you to catch up."

Ed didn't respond, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. "Yeah, guess so," he relented, as if there had somehow been a chance he couldn't have accepted anyways.

He needed constant supervision. He needed someone to watch him, to be there when his mind dragged him back to that basement so they could drag him back out. He needed help changing the dressings on his wounds, to eat, to dress, to shower, and to even find the bathroom. He couldn't stand silence, but he could stand noise even less. Someone had to be there, watching him and helping him, or the darkness would consume him.

If he wasn't the most wretched creature in existence, he didn't know what else could be.

He buried his head in the blankets and wished desperately for light.

* * *

_*faceplants* Sorry this update took so long! I wanted the chapter itself to be longer, but time . . . I just didn't have it lol. I have been super busy with play practice and job hunting and art commissions and this just sort of got put on the back burner. But in other news, I may have a job! I'm really excited about it, and that means that I have more time to work on things I love since half my life won't be devoted to the hunt lol._

_Oh, and someone pointed out something, so I felt the need to clarify; In the last chapter, Ed didn't want to transmute because he thought it would be dangerous for Al. It's not that he has lost his ability to do alchemy because his sight is gone (because obviously Mustang could transmute when he was blind) but just from things I've read and my own imagination, I feel that an alchemist has to make all kinds of observations about what something is made of, how much of it there is, and other things to make a good, solid transmutation. Something that's really hard to do without seeing it. With something as delicate as the suit of armor with Al's blood seal attached to it, I would think Ed wouldn't want to risk it if there was a higher chance of something going wrong without a really good reason. Sorry I didn't explain myself well there!_

_Okay, reviews to _Heart_ have all been responded to! Now I just have to respond to you guys from last chapter xD_

_BUT. BUUUUUUUT. For those of you that read _Heart_; you will not believe. You just won't, because I didn't. Go to youtube and type in "Vic Mignogna reads quote from fanfic." It should be the very top one. Yes, it MEANS WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS! I am floored. If you don't recognize it (though I don't know why you wouldn't xD), read the description. Seriously, I'm about to die from HAPPINESS. My week could not possibly get any better. There's no way :'D_

_You guys are awesome! If you have time WATCH THE VIDEO, drop a review, and hopefully the next update will be sooner :'D_

_I must go die of happiness now._

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	6. Chapter 6

Roy watched silently as Silas finished up Ed's examination, only half listening as the young doctor babbled on about the intellectual benefits of polka. Roy was far too distracted trying to figure out what he was going to say to Ed to pay much attention.

It had been just over a week since he had spoken to the Fuhrer. Roy had stalled filling out the paper work for as long as possible, but his time was up. He had finished the last of it that morning and it would be processed the next day. That meant the Elrics had to be out of the barracks in three days' time.

And Roy still had no idea how he was going to tell them.

"So naturally, that makes polka the most accessible for all ages!" Silas concluded as he finished securing the final bandage around Ed's bare torso and taking a step back from the bed. "There, all done! How does it feel?"

Ed slowly propped himself up with one arm and Al's steadying hand on his back, murky eyes narrowed in thought. He looked like some kind of faux mummy, with bandages crisscrossing over every bit of visible skin. He turned his head toward Silas. "It's fine."

Roy decided that Ed looked a lot better than he had even a few days ago. Roy had been accompanying Doctor Silas every time he stopped by Ed's dorm in the evenings, and he couldn't deny that the boy was improving much faster than he had in the hospital. Physical injuries were starting to heal, and his coloring wasn't quite as washed anymore. He was even putting on a bit of weight with the implementation of his new diet, the shadows between his ribs less pronounced than they had been at the beginning of the week.

Even more encouraging was his behavior. Alphonse reported that he was getting more sleep, and his appetite was slowly returning to something healthier instead of the ravenous, starved sort of desperation he had been exhibiting at mealtime. Al even said some of his temper was starting to return in small doses. Silas mentioned that it wouldn't be too much longer before his work here was done.

"Well, everything is looking great!" Silas informed enthusiastically as he pulled out his pen light and flashed it in Ed's eyes, with the boy none the wiser. Silas' expression darkened slightly, apparently not finding what he wanted, but that didn't stop his stream of happy chatter. "Alphonse tells me you've been getting up and around some?"

Ed grimaced, as if remembering something particularly distasteful. "Some."

"Excellent!" Silas said approvingly, putting away his instruments into his bag. "Definitely some improvement, then! Tell me, how are you getting around? How is your balance?"

Ed looked like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He shifted uncomfortably, the way he used to when he came to Roy's office after a particularly destructive mission. "It's okay."

"Brother . . ." Al warned.

Ed scowled.

He _actually _scowled.

Roy almost couldn't help the grin that tried to tear across his face in response. How long had it been since he had seen that expression on Ed's face? Something other than passive agitation and blatant terror . . . it was so normal, so very _Ed_ that Roy almost wanted to laugh.

"It's disorienting," Ed said, voice dark and just a bit petulant that his brother was putting him on the spot. "I get dizzy and disoriented and have flashbacks, so then I sit on the ground and cry like a baby until Al comes to get me. That better?"

That wiped the grin from Roy's face . . . but still, Ed hiding things like that, that he was getting angry and defensive, that was a good sign, wasn't it? It was more Ed-like, so it had to be some kind of improvement.

"Ah, well, that's to be expected," Silas said, as if Ed had just stated the sun rose from the east. "The disorientation will go away with time, but I brought you something that should help a bit with moving." He reached beside him and picked up a long, thin cane, then gently took Ed's hand and placed the instrument in his grip.

Ed frowned, accepting the wooden device. He placed it in his lap and ran his hand up and down its polished surface. "A . . . stick?" he asked, sounding unimpressed.

"It's a walking stick!" Silas exclaimed with what Roy thought was an undue amount of enthusiasm.

Ed's expression darkened considerably. "I don't want it."

"Brother—"

"No," Ed growled, holding the cane out for Silas to take back. "I'm not using that."

Roy frowned. "What's wrong with it, Fullmetal? It'll keep you from breaking your neck."

Ed jumped as if he had forgotten Roy was there entirely. That only served to annoy him further, though. "It's bad enough not being able to see without also having to _look_ like an invalid," he muttered, and when no one took the cane from him, he threw it on the ground.

Apparently, he hadn't been expecting the subsequent clatter.

He jumped a mile, eyes widening in terror as he jerked away from the noise like a gunshot. He pressed his body against the wall and went deathly still, hand wrapped around his throat.

No one breathed.

"Ed?" Al finally whispered.

Just the sound of his brother's voice was enough to snap him out of whatever flashback had begun to play in his head. He frowned for a second in confusion, then realization seemed to dawn on him. His face suddenly twisted into a snarl and he struck out at the wall with an automail foot and a curse, leaving a dent in the plaster. _"This is so _STUPID!" he hissed, kicking the wall again for good measure.

Silas turned to give Roy a pointed look, as if _he_ somehow knew what to do.

Roy stepped forward. "Fullmetal," he said gently.

Ed stopped his unceremonious destruction of the wall and crossed his legs in front of him, head hanging low and frustration written plain as day on his face. "Are we done, Doctor?" he asked, voice suddenly reserved as his sightless eyes stared at his lap.

Silas smiled, but it wasn't nearly as chipper as it had been before. "Yeah, we're done. Your brother here mentioned your automail mechanic would come to see about repairing your arm and leg?"

Ed's face tightened, but he didn't otherwise respond.

"She can't make it to Central for another two weeks," Al said, cautious eyes on Ed. Roy felt like he was missing something, but didn't ask. He found it odd that it would take the girl so long, especially if she knew the circumstances. Which probably meant Ed hadn't allowed Alphonse to tell her the circumstances.

Silas didn't ask, either. "I had your therapy scheduled starting next week, but since you'll need some working limbs, we can either get you fitted with some temporary ones—"

"No."

"—or we can just move the appointment back," Silas continued with a wry smile. "I'll don't have the appointments set up for your psychiatrist yet, but once I get those done, I'll pass the info along to Roy."

"You're wasting your time," Ed growled. "I told you before, I'm not seeing some shrink."

Silas' smile widened knowingly. "Well, it'll at least give you the option, in case you change your mind. I'll go ahead and get out of your hair, then." He picked up his bag and made for the door. "I'll see myself out!" he called cheerily before leaving the room and shutting the door firmly behind him, his loud whistling fading down the hall.

Al watched his brother stare at his lap. Roy looked back and forth between them.

The silence was terribly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat, making Ed jump. "Well," he said slowly, "Didn't you want to go to the library, Alphonse?"

Ed's breathing hitched and his body stiffened.

Al's soul-fire eyes locked on Ed. "Well, I don't think that—"

"Just go, Al," Ed said, the last traces of the earlier fire gone from his voice and leaving something weak and husky in its place.

Al sighed—a strange noise, coming from a suit of armor— and slowly headed for the door. "I won't be gone long, okay? Promise."

"Take your time," Ed said. Roy knew he didn't mean it.

Al opened the door and turned to give Roy a hard stare. _Take care of him._

Roy nodded.

Al closed the door, once again enveloping the room in silence.

Roy stared at Ed, his mind spinning as he tried to find a way to bring up the topic that he would give anything to avoid. How was he supposed to tell him? Was there a gentle way to say it? He should have brought Hawkeye . . . she always knew what to say—

Ed moved, jarring Roy from his thoughts, and he focused on the boy again. His eyes had gone wide and Roy noticed the faint trembling of his hand and the way his breathing suddenly accelerated. He reached out blindly, groping around the bed for something.

"Ed?" Roy asked softly.

Ed flinched, but didn't stop his search. "I . . . I need . . ."

Roy stepped forward and, almost without thinking, put his wrist in Ed's path.

His eyes widened in surprise, but he immediately latched on to it, fingers tightening around Roy's arm. He took a slow, shuddering breath, eyes falling shut. "Where's the blanket?" he whispered after a moment.

Roy glanced around and spotted it partially shoved under the bed. Careful not to break contact, he picked it up with his other hand and placed it on Ed's lap.

Ed held on a moment longer, staring intently as if waging some kind of internal battle, then slowly let go of Roy's wrist. Roy watched as he struggled with one hand to wrap the blanket around himself, then unfolded his body and slid from the bed to the floor, sliding across the ground until he had his back pressed to the wall. He settled there, still holding his eyes closed, and looked like he was trying very hard to control his breathing.

Roy wished desperately he knew what to say. He wished he was good with words, the way Hughes had been. He wished he could just whisper something and banish Ed's fear entirely.

Instead, he had come to bring more bad news down on the child's head.

Maybe this wasn't a good time . . .

"Are you alright?" Roy finally asked from his awkward position standing in the middle of the dorm.

A small, humorless smile twitched at Ed's lips. "That's a stupid question, Mustang."

"I guess it is," Roy smirked, but the expression he usually wore so easily was now weighted, heavy on his lips. "What was that about?"

The smile vanished from Ed's face. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"That's a stupid answer, Fullmetal," Roy countered. He stepped up to the wall and put his back to it, sliding down to sit on the floor next to Ed with a tired sigh. He sat close enough to let their shoulders touch, a simple, supportive contact. During his stay at the hospital, the boy had often sought out the touch of himself, Alphonse, Havoc and Hawkeye. Ed never explained why, but Roy suspected it had to do with making sure someone was actually there, that it wasn't some kind of hallucination. Or maybe in some way it was like looking someone in the eyes when he could no longer see.

Ed stiffened at the touch, but didn't otherwise respond.

Roy took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any. "I have something I need to talk to you about."

Ed let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. "Sounds bad."

"It's . . . not good."

Give him a superior officer, a politician or a woman and Roy could talk them in circles. With a few well-placed words, Roy could get a crowd to laugh or cry.

Give him a broken child and Roy could barely string together a sentence.

"Not good?" Ed asked, the shattered smile spreading across his face, as sharp and painful as broken glass. "Well, whatever it is, I can promise you I've heard worse."

_Not much worse . . ._

"It's about . . . well, I don't know how to tell you, to be honest," Roy said, staring at his booted feet and Ed's own mismatched pair in front of them. The automail foot glinted brightly in the fading light from the window.

"Just spit it out, Mustang."

Roy took another deep breath and told him.

Ed didn't say anything.

And Roy tried to pretend he didn't see Ed's tears even as he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close.

They stayed like that for a long time. They stayed like that until the sun outside had finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the room into deep shadows and hushed silence. They stayed that way until Ed's breaths evened out and he finally quieted. Outside, the security gas lamps flickered on, sending in a stream of golden light to paint the desk and the floor on the other side of the room.

Beside him, Ed heaved a shuddering sigh.

"There's nothing left, then, is there?" Ed whispered into Roy's shoulder. "This is it."

The word "devastation" didn't do the tone justice, but Roy could think of nothing else to describe the voice emanating from the young alchemist. "No," he said, his own voice hushed. "Of course not."

Ed's hand suddenly clenched, bunching Roy's uniform jacket in a tight fist. "Don't patronize me, Mustang. Please, not now."

Roy blinked. Did he really think Roy was that heartless? To actually belittle him at a time like this?! "Ed, I'm not patronizing you. I'm serious. It's not over. It's not over until you and Al have your bodies back."

Again, that humorless laugh. Roy almost preferred the devastation over that self-depreciating mockery. "Then you're an idiot. And so am I. I'm an idiot for thinking I could raise the dead and for dragging Al into it with me. And I'm an idiot for thinking I could somehow get out of paying the price for it." He put his shaky hand to his face, covering his eyes as if he could somehow hide them from himself. "I guess this is the price for even trying to skirt the laws of Equivalency."

Maybe it was the fact that Ed sounded like he had already given up, that he had been beaten by this. Maybe it was because Ed was the strongest person Roy knew, and to hear things like that coming from him . . . it shook Roy to the core.

Either way, Roy Mustang's temper burned.

"You listen to me, Ed," he hissed, his voice suddenly as searing as his alchemy. Ed went ridged beside him, but Roy only tightened his hold on the boy. "_Listen_ to me. You're hurt, and Al's not here, so I guess you're just not thinking straight, but I will _not_ allow you to continue down that train of thought, do you understand me?"

Ed tried to pull away, but Roy's grip wouldn't allow it. "Stop that," he ordered, and Ed's struggling ceased. "Do you hear me, Ed? I _order_ you not to give up. You're going to beat this. I don't know how, I don't know when, but you're going to get through this somehow. And when you do, you're going to pick up right where you left off and someday, you're going to get your bodies back. I will not allow you to just _give up_. Do you understand me, Fullmetal?"

Ed didn't answer.

"I just gave you an order!"

"Sir," Ed managed to squeak, voice small and surprised.

Roy couldn't quite keep the smile off of his face as he rested his chin on the blond head. "That's better."

Because, Roy supposed, even the strongest people couldn't be strong all the time. Sometimes you just needed someone else to be your strength for a little while.

The ensuing silence wasn't so pervasive anymore. At least for Roy, there was a bit of peace to it, a resolve that permeated the night air.

A hope that maybe, somehow, this could turn out alright.

"Mustang?" Ed asked.

"Hmm?"

"You're a jerk."

Roy huffed a quiet laugh. Never again would he take those insults for granted, or the hidden messages behind them; the one's Ed could rarely voice but always held the most weight.

_Thanks._

And after what Roy had done . . . after all he had put the boy through, this was the least he could do for him. He had complete confidence that, child or not, if anyone could pull through this, it was Ed. Even if he needed some help along the way.

"Brat."

_You're welcome._

* * *

_D'aaaw c:_

_Okay, I didn't like the last chapter as much, but I liked this one lol (yay for Parental Roy xD). Hope you did, too! And I updated on time! Be proud c:_

_Some of you guys have pointed out a lack of Winry. I know she briefly came up in this chapter, but I still feel the need to address it. Because what's an author's note without me making one of these disclaimer sort of things haha :'D_

_To set this up, I like Winry. I totally ship her and Ed, since it's cannon. I likes it. I can't write it to save my life, but I likes it. Moving on; just from my observations and stuff, I don't really think Ed even acknowledges the possibility of being interested in her as more than a friend until, like, episode 50. Their whole relationship seems pretty platonic and sibling-like until the Briggs business, and since I sort of have this story taking place around the time Mustang moves to Central, I really don't think she would be on his mind just tons at this point, aside from some bouts of homesickness. And really, since Ed's been busy dealing with a lot of other things at this point, he really hasn't had a chance to get homesick yet. _

_But there's also another reason I opted to sort of not make her a big deal in this fic: I didn't want to detract from the story and have too many things going at once, you know? This is primarily a parental Roy fic, not a EdWin fic, so I just don't want to emphasize it too much xD But, if you can't tell by this chapter, Winry is going to pop up soon. Hope that satisfies/is acceptable lol :'D_

_Whew. And now, THANK YOU GUYS! You guys are amazing and legit and I am super thankful for every reader/review/favorite :) You guys are the best and every review makes me want to write more. Thanks for the encouragement, and I feel humbled and blessed to have you guys here reading my writing. I'm glad you're here! :) Thanks for the support!_

_ I shall respond to all reviews from the last chapter tonight/tomorrow-ish!_

_Back to art commissions! *dies*_

_See you next chapter ;)_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	7. Chapter 7

Roy propped his elbow on his desk and cradled his head in his hand, trying to massage away the headache growing behind his left eye.

He was just about at his wit's end and still had no idea what he was going to do.

"Sir?"

He glanced up between a veil of fingers to see Hawkeye standing at the door, a stack of paperwork tucked under one arm. He suppressed a groan as she walked in and deposited the load on his desk.

"For me? You shouldn't have," he said with a weary sigh, sliding it over to add to the pile of work he'd accurately labeled 'Things That Will Never Get Done in His Lifetime.'

She didn't dignify that with a response. "You seem especially unproductive today, sir," she commented with thinly veiled displeasure, eyes drifting to the aforementioned pile. Three months ago it had only taken up a small corner of his desk, but as of late, it had grown, slowly eating away at his work area like spreading mold, growing and mutating into an unconquerable beast.

If he were being honest, he preferred mold.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with those boys, Hawkeye," he muttered, closing his eyes. "They have to be out of the dorms by tomorrow, but where else can they go? They need people to look out for them, so they need to be here in Central or back in Resembool. I could send them home, but they don't have the health professionals Ed needs right now."

"Even if he has no intentions of seeing any more?" the Lieutenant asked with a wry smile.

Roy scowled. "He's going to see one whether he likes it or not. But for that, he needs to be here in Central. They can't get an apartment or a house. The only reason I let them stay in the dorms was because Feury and Fallman were right down the hall."

"Then I guess you have no choice," she commented, turning to leave. "They'll just have to stay with you."

Roy blanched.

She walked out the door.

"Wait a minute!" he called, scrambling from his desk and stalking to the front office. "I can't do that!"

His whole team looked up at him with various expressions of surprise. Hawkeye ignored him and took her seat at her desk.

"Can't do what?" Havoc asked, kicking back in his chair, willing to take any excuse to not do his work.

"I can't take those boys in my house!" Roy protested, crossing his arms to give Hawkeye a challenging look. Since she was practically ignoring him, though, he turned his attention to the rest of his crew. "She thinks I can just take them in!"

Havoc and Breda frowned. Fallman looked contemplative, and Feury just looked like he'd rather not have this conversation.

Breda leaned over his desk to prop his head on his hands. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, why not?"

Roy's eyes widened. Why not?! Did no one else see the imminent disaster in that plan? "Because! Because they're . . . and I'm . . . I can't. . ."

"What he's trying to say," Hawkeye said absently, frowning at a document she was currently perusing, "is that he doesn't have a good reason."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Lieutenant!" he huffed, hands clenching. And she was _still_ ignoring him! Fine, then. He turned back to the men around him. Surely they would understand. "Edward hates me on the best of days. And he's a complete brat. We'll probably kill one another by the end of the week!"

Havoc gave him a bored look, picking up an unlit, half-chewed cigarette from his desk and placing it between his lips. "That's your reason?"

Roy blinked. "What more reason do I need? He's not even my responsibility anymore!" he said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. What a cruel, heartless thing to say. As if he weren't directly responsible for Ed being in the military. As if he didn't send the boy on a mission far too close to Drachma for a boy's safety. As if he weren't indirectly responsible for Ed's state. "I can't," he insisted, voice a bit weaker this time. He forced some steel into it. "I just can't!"

"Well, sir," Feury mumbled shyly from around his radio, "if they didn't stay with you, where else could they go?"

"I don't know!" he said, now completely exasperated. Feury visibly cowered from his obvious frustration, but Roy didn't bother to soften his tone. "That's why I put my team on it, but so far you've turned up less than nothing!"

Havoc and Breda looked completely unabashed. Hawkeye and Falman had returned to their paperwork. Feury looked like he was trying to sink under his desk.

A load of help _they_ were.

"Well, since there's obviously no other option," Havoc said around his cancer stick, "Maybe you should just take them in until you can figure something else out."

Roy's jaw worked up and down for a moment. "But I can't—"

"Yeah, it's not like they have to stay with you forever, right?" Breda asked, smiling wryly. "Just until Ed gets back on his feet, so to speak. Then they'll be out of your hair."

"But Ed will—"

"Alphonse will make sure Ed doesn't kill you," Havoc supplied helpfully.

"Sir. Just for a little while," Hawkeye said, finally looking up at him with a soft smile.

Roy looked around the room. They all exchanged knowing looks.

"You knew this from the beginning. You knew this would happen," he said accusingly, feeling somewhat miffed and a bit betrayed.

Hawkeye turned back to her paperwork and told him, "Of course, sir. It was inevitable."

He scowled. He hated how they could always see things he couldn't.

But maybe that's why he put them on his team. Someone had to cover his blind spots. And where the Elrics were concerned, Roy had plenty of those.

With a scowl and a defeated sigh, Roy spun on his heel and marched back into his office, slamming the door shut.

If he was going to move the Elrics into his home tomorrow, he had some preparations to make.

* * *

Al sighed in exasperation. "Are you honestly going to argue about this?" he asked, gathering the small stack of clothing from the dresser and neatly packing it in their suitcase.

Ed scowled from his seat on the ground against the wall, his preferred spot next to being at Al's side. "I don't want to be in that Idiot Colonel's house. We don't need his help."

This had been Ed's excuse ever since Al had proposed it. He claimed it was because it was completely unnecessary and the Colonel was a pain, but Al knew there was more to it than that.

Before the whole incident, Ed used to be very easy going. He didn't mind dropping the day's plans to go sit in the park and read, or following Al to the market to window shop, if Al could drag him from the library. He wasn't dependent on anyone's schedule but his own, and was very flexible with it.

Now, though, all that had changed. He had no perception of night or day or the passage of time, so he relied heavily on Alphonse telling him when he was supposed to do things, like eat and shower and dress, and he had become almost addicted to the routine and order. Though he tried to hide it, Al noticed that any minor change caused him an undue amount of stress, so Alphonse did his best to eliminate any and all surprises that he could.

In the wake of his discharge, though, all predictability was on the verge of being torn apart. Since Ed had found out he would have to leave the dorm, he was becoming more and more anxious, fear of not knowing where they would be in three days slowly eating away at him. Alphonse hated that. After all the uncertainty and the fear of being blind and what lead to it, now he had this to go through.

They had discussed renting an apartment on the cheaper side of town, now that their income had been reduced to almost nothing, but that terrified Al. Sure they needed some more time to figure out what they were going to do now and to tie up some lose ends in Central (and, though Ed denied it, more medical treatment) but that side of town was dangerous, and with Ed in his current state, Al wasn't sure it was a good idea. He would never want to leave his brother alone for more than a moment, and he didn't trust himself to do all of the right things.

They had been taking care of each other for years, in their own way, but Ed was the protector. He was the strong one, the one that made the big decisions and spurred them forward. No matter how discouraging the world became or how bleak the future looked, he was the burning beacon, the light that lead them on.

But things were different now. Ed was different now. For the third time, Al felt like their world had been ripped apart.

And, if he were truly being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if they would make it this time.

He felt out of his league, drowning under the flood of responsibilities he wasn't equipped to handle. He had no idea what he was doing, and he was scared.

So when the Colonel called the day before with the proposition to have them stay with him for a while, Alphonse didn't even bother consulting with Ed. He jumped at the opportunity, eagerly and wholeheartedly, almost melting with relief. Just the thought of a capable adult taking charge took a load off his shoulders. It meant he didn't have to take care of Ed by himself.

It meant that Ed wouldn't have to be alone when Al left to find a way to heal him.

"Brother, it's cheaper than getting an apartment," Alphonse pointed out, clearing out the last drawer and moving on to the book shelf. "We don't have a lot of money at our disposal right now."

"I have my _disability_ pension." Ed spat 'disability' as if it were the vilest word ever conceived. "It should cover rent on the other side of town, as cheap as those dumps are. And besides, I have plenty of money stashed away," he insisted, hugging the blanket tighter around himself. To most people it would look like he was just cold, but Al knew his brother and the mannerisms he had begun developing lately. He did that when he was feeling particularly uncomfortable or scared, as if it were some kind of shield instead of a swath of fabric. Something about going to the Colonel's house was really bothering him.

"A lot of that is going to pay off your hospital stay, and we'll need even more to cover your therapy and the psychiatrist—"

"Which I will _not_ be seeing. There. Money saved."

"—and besides, we could really use the help right now."

Al knew his brother almost better than he knew himself. Ed was prideful, almost to a fault. He didn't accept charity or help that he felt like he hadn't earned somehow, believing it violated the laws of Equivalent Exchange. That he was about to be indebted to a man he had butted heads with and competed against for years was something that would be hard for his pride to swallow. Even harder for him would be for him to show his obvious weakness and need to someone he admired and looked up to.

Though he would never admit that part aloud, of course.

But if Ed was prideful, he was every ounce just as selfless when it came to Alphonse, and though Al felt ashamed to use it against his brother, he would if it meant Ed would be better off. "Besides, I would feel better if we stayed with someone we knew." He said it quietly, almost afraid Ed would still refuse.

Ed didn't say anything. Al finally chanced a glance at him to see his eyes closed, mouth flat in a tight line. "Alright, fine," he muttered. "We can stay at the stupid Colonel's house, but just for a little while."

It was the best Al could hope for, and he was grateful Ed would allow it at all. "Thank you, Brother."

Ed grunted, sinking deeper into his blanket.

Al wished this wasn't so stressful for him.

"The Colonel will be here in a minute," Al said, glancing at the alarm clock before adding it to the depressingly sparse suitcase. That was the last of it.

Ed made no response.

A quiet rap on the door made his brother gasp, blind eyes widening. His hand clutched his throat.

Al recognized his flash backs easily now, usually following a sudden sound, the bark of a dog on the grounds outside, or immediately upon wakening. Sometimes all it took was a gentle voice to wake him from it, but sometimes Al had to wait for it to pass on its own, doing all in his power to keep Ed from hurting himself. "Brother, it's okay. It's just the door," he explained softly. He carefully walked beside him, and when he didn't snap out of it, Al placed a gentle gauntlet on his shoulder.

Ed hissed, flinching away from his touch as if he'd been burned. Without his other arm to catch himself, though, he fell back against the floor. He curled up on himself with a pathetic whimper, completely hidden under the blanket except for several stray strands of golden hair.

No matter how many times Ed quailed from his touch, no matter how often Al told himself it wasn't on purpose, Al felt his soul shatter for the millionth time.

The door clicked open, gliding slowly agape to reveal Colonel Mustang, dark eyes narrowed in apprehension. "Alphonse?" he asked, unable to see Ed from his vantage point.

Al was about to reply when Ed gasped, no longer hyperventilating, but breathing hard as if waking from a nightmare. "Al?" he asked, voice small and scared. "Alphonse?"

"Brother, I'm here," he said softly, kneeling at his brother's side and touching his shoulder again.

This time Ed didn't cower away, but leaned into the touch, his only hand sliding out from under the blanket to wrap around Al's large fingers. "Sorry," he apologized breathlessly, face still hidden under his blanket.

The Colonel came around the corner, concern shining in those onyx eyes. "Everything alright?"

Ed flinched, but Al gently uncovered him, finally bringing his pallid face into view. "We're okay, Colonel," Al assured him, lifting his other hand to carefully wipe Ed's bangs from his sweat-soaked forehead.

Ed gazed up at the space to the right of Al's head, making Al's nonexistent heart tighten. He missed his brother's eyes, their molten gold depths once so sharp and expressive, now flat and milky and swimming with demons.

The Colonel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, are you boys ready?"

"Yes, Colonel," Al murmured, gathering Ed inside his blanket and lifting him his arms like a drowned cat.

Ed made a sound of protest, the frown flitting across his face making Alphonse's soul smile with relief. "I can walk by myself!" he objected, voice still thin but more like himself.

Al knew that, and he knew Ed would be happier if he could, but Al doubted he would make it very far. Since his rescue, Ed had never been out of the hospital and the dorm while conscious, and though he could usually walk around alright in the tight space of the dorm, Al was afraid he would fall on his malfunctioning automail, or something would scare him badly enough that he would hurt himself or some innocent bystander.

No, he felt a lot better with his brother in his arms, regardless of how Ed's pride felt about it. That didn't mean he could be insensitive about it, though. "It's okay, Ed. I don't want you to strain yourself. You haven't even started therapy yet."

Mustang nodded at Al approvingly. "You need to take it easy, Ed," he agreed. As if Ed would be amiable about it just because the Colonel liked it.

Ed scowled. "I'm not going to wear myself out walking to the parking lot!" he insisted, but that's as far as he pressed as the Colonel picked up their suitcase and they left the dorm. Ed must have had his own reservations about walking, or he would have been shrieking all the way out to the car.

But that was the Ed over three months ago. Not the timid, trembling shadow of a brother Alphonse now held in his arms.

Thankfully there was no one in the corridor as Al and Mustang made their way through the building. Ed's breathing accelerated steadily the longer they walked, making Mustang throw concerned glances his way.

"What's wrong, Fullmetal?" the Colonel finally asked.

Ed seemed to relax a bit in Al's arms, his hand loosening its tight hold on the blanket just a bit. "Nothing," he responded, his voice relieved, as if just the sound of a voice reassured him that everything was alright.

Al had noticed that; sometimes Ed asked for Al to just talk or hum, usually when it was especially quiet or he couldn't sleep. Ed had told him that it made him feel connected and kept his mind from drifting to the past. He didn't have to specify what that past was.

So Al struck up a conversation. "How did you talk the Lieutenant into letting you take off work early today?" he asked Mustang, keeping his tone light and nonchalant.

Mustang smirked. "I didn't. I sent her to deliver an inquiry four floors up, then ran for it."

Al giggled a bit, and was pleased to see that Ed's lip quirked in response. "Figures," Ed muttered. "You're just inviting us in so you can slack off."

"And so far, it's working perfectly," Mustang assured them, opening the door wide for Alphonse to slip past.

A rush of winter air swept in. Ed went rigid like a deer caught in the headlights, jaw slack and eyes wide. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.

Al's phantom heart jumped to his throat.

"ED!" Alphonse shouted, staring in terror at the lifeless body of his brother in his arms.

Mustang was immediately by their side, sliding a gloved hand under Ed's jaw for a pulse. "He's alright, Alphonse," Mustang assured him, his voice tight. "He just fainted."

"But . . . why would he faint?" he demanded, his own voice trembling with emotion. If he had possessed a body, he doubted he would still be standing.

Roy shook his head. "Sometimes with posttraumatic stress disorder, some sensations remind you so much of the incident that the only way the mind can protect itself is to shut down." There was something odd about the way he said it, as if reciting a textbook he had read a dozen times. "It was cold up north."

Al gazed down at his brother, feeling overwhelmed and lost. How was he supposed to help Ed fight this when it was a war for his mind?

"Come on, Al," Mustang encouraged, some warmth and concern seeping back into his voice. "Let's get moving before he wakes up." With a tenderness Al had only seen him exhibit with Ed in the hospital over a week ago, the older man pulled the blanket tighter around Ed, covering everything but his face. Then he opened the door and Al followed him out into the winter day to his car.

* * *

Ed frowned, glaring down at the object in his hand, as if trying to stare past the blindness. He could sense it right there, the smooth leather of the cover, the barely discernible texture of writing on slick pages, the comforting scent of paper and ink and dust. He could hear the pages flipping, feel the passage of air caress his face with every turn.

But no matter how long he held it in his hand, breathed its sent and heard its whispers, the knowledge contained within it remained locked away, just out of his reach.

And no matter how silly he knew it was, he couldn't help but feel his gut twist with betrayal and icy rejection.

Books had been his oldest friends, ever since he was old enough to hold the picture ones his mother used to read to him. They were gateways to secrets and ideas of the past and present, to knowledge and power and answers to unasked questions. If Ed was ever unsure of something, he knew he could find answers within their pages.

But now, when he was more unsure than ever, they were silent. It hurt more than it should.

"Ed?"

Ed flinched as his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts. He shoved the book aside, listening to it glide across the wood of Mustang's kitchen table. Al had seen him have at least two flashback and faint, all in one day. He didn't need his brother to see him lose it over some stupid books, too. "What?"

As if to further Ed's point, Al asked hesitantly, "Are you okay?"

Would people ever stop asking him that? Wasn't it obvious? "Fine, Al."

He could almost hear Al's hesitancy as he went back to his book across the table. He could hear Mustang from the chair beside him go back to whatever work material he was reading through, too, once again leaving Ed alone with his thoughts. He wished he could see what Al was reading. He wished he could help.

Al had told Ed he was going to keep researching the Philosopher's Stone, so whenever Ed was ready, they could keep searching for it. But Alphonse was not a good liar. In fact, he was a very bad one, and Ed saw through it immediately. He knew he was looking for a cure, but just didn't want Ed to get his hopes up in case he didn't find anything.

Well, Ed had been keeping hope at bay with a twenty-foot pole these days. He knew a hopeless cause when he saw one.

Ha. Saw one.

Was it stupid that his heart twinged at such a pathetic joke?

"What time is it?" he asked, not liking the emptiness he heard in his own voice.

"It's late," Mustang's baritone supplied from the chair to Ed's left, only a couple of feet away. "It's about time to turn in."

Ed gritted his teeth. "I'll go to bed whenever I feel like it," he growled, pulling the blanket he loathed so much tighter around him. Like a two year old with a blanky. It was sickening, but sometimes it was the only thing he could comfort himself with when he started drifting, like an anchor to reality. There were no blankets in that basement, and he could sometimes tell if he was awake or not by its softness pulled tightly around him. He was pushing his luck by actually sitting in a chair, something so unstable with so much air around it. He didn't think he'd be able to keep his mind in the present without the familiar fabric over his shoulders.

He could almost see Mustang throwing up his hands in exasperation. Good. Served him right, trying to boss him around like he was his father or something. "Fine," he relented. Ed could hear the rustle of movement and feel the table jolt as the Colonel stood up. "I'm going to go lay out some towels and check the guest bedroom."

"Do you need some help?" Al asked.

"Nah. You can help Ed with a shower while I fix things up, if he wants."

Ed felt his cheeks burn and ducked his head. "Shut up. I can take my own shower."

That was a lie. Ed had to have Alphonse right there on the other side of the curtain the whole time, lest he have a flashback to being sprayed with a water hose down in that freezing basement for the sake of 'keeping him clean.' He could hear their footsteps coming down the hallway outside, the slither of the hose dragging behind them.

The wolves shifted restlessly somewhere on the far side of the basement. He was pretty sure he broke one of their noses the day before, so they had stayed away from him today.

They weren't the problem right now, though.

There were at least two of them, as usual. He could hear their rough voices speaking in Drachman. The coarse language sent shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The collar around his throat chafed painfully as he pressed himself into the corner, choking and trying not to breath at the same time.

The door swung open on heavy hinges and he squeezed his sightless eyes shut, making himself as small of a target as possible.

Wolves snarled cautiously, echoing his own feelings about their captors.

They stopped at the top of the stairs. One of the men said something that Ed just knew was some kind of cruel jib about him. The other brayed at his joke, then Ed heard the water hose flip on and the deafening rush of powerful liquid.

It hit like an icy whip, lashing across his bare skin and causing hot and cold agony at the same time. Though he tried to protect his face, the water found its way there, forcing its way up his nose and into his mouth, choking him. He coughed, trying to expel the fluid from his lungs, but when he gasped for air, he only found more water.

He was going to die this time. They weren't taking the water away, and he was going to drown.

Then, something was there, blocking the water with a hand. He clearly felt the weight of it on his shoulder, despite the pounding of the water.

Yeah, well, they were going to pay for that mistake.

He lashed out with his foot and a snarl. His flesh limb hit something solid and he heard a voice cry out before he was falling.

He knew that voice . . . didn't he?

He hit the floor hard, sharp pain making him gasp. At least he couldn't hear the water anymore. He shivered, skin rippling with gooseflesh in the wake of the freezing shower.

He was tangled in something, and couldn't move. Did they tie him up when he was so disoriented?

With another snarl, he jerked around, trying to wrestle himself lose with only one arm to work with.

"EDWARD ELRIC!"

He froze.

He wasn't tied up. It was his blanket. The man he had just kicked wasn't one of his tormentors, it was Mustang. The floor wasn't concrete, it was tile. He smelled kitchen spices and wood, not must and dog. He wasn't soaked. He had just had another flashback.

In front of Al. In front of Mustang. Another one.

All of the energy left him in a rush. He didn't even have it in him to wrestle the blanket away. What was the point? Mustang had already seen him flailing around like a lunatic and crying out and choking on nothing but his imagination. There was no way he could make a bigger fool of himself.

He just closed his eyes and put his forehead against the cool tile.

He was such an idiot.

"Ed?" Al's voice murmured carefully from seven feet above his head.

He might as well have been seven miles given how alone Ed felt now, isolated and trapped in the repeating nightmares of his head.

"I'm fine, Al," he said quietly. "I'm fine."

_I'm lost. I'm alone and I'm drowning in my own personal purgatory. _

How was he supposed to get Al's body back like this? How was he supposed to do _anything_ like _this?_ It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't. Mustang could spout all of his "getting through this" crap that he wanted to, but it didn't change things. It didn't give him back his sight. It didn't give him back his mind. It was just a veil of false hope and empty promises, gossamer dreams to keep his fragile mind from going off the deep end.

It was far too late for that, though. He was already in the deep end and sinking fast.

Then he felt warm hands through the fabric around him, gently untangling his limbs. "If you were drop-dead tired, you should have said so," Mustang said lightly, pulling his arm from the blanket. "I could have made the guest bed hours ago." His voice was almost teasing, but the concern there was too warm, too pervasive for Ed to get upset or more embarrassed. "Alphonse, would you mind turning the covers down? We'll be there in a minute."

"Sure," Al said uncertainly, as if wanting Ed's permission before leaving. Ed didn't move, though, so he walked off, his footsteps clanking out of the kitchen, through the living area and up the stairs.

Mustang finally got his automail leg untangled, pulling the blanket out of a gear jutting from the lose paneling. "Stop it," he said.

Ed frowned. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

"For a second there, you gave up. So stop it." Mustang's hand slipped into his, warm and strong and safe. With minimal effort, he hoisted Ed to his feet.

Ed swayed, disoriented and head spinning with the sudden motion, but Mustang was right there, that same steadying hand under his arm and guiding him forward.

"We already talked about this," Mustang continued. "You have your orders. I expect you to obey them." His tone left little room for argument, but Ed was gifted in such areas.

"I'm not military anymore. You can't boss me around. Jerk," he growled, but even to himself his voice sounded lifeless.

He couldn't help but wonder if Mustang meant what he had said. If he truly believed there was a way through this, a way that didn't end with Ed locked away in a padded cell or dying of loneliness or insanity.

Ed wasn't sure, though.

In some ways, Mustang reminded him of Hoenheim. He was strong, smart, reassuring. When he stepped into a room, people looked, drawn to the quiet power he possessed.

When Ed was little, he believed that his father could do no wrong, that he would be there until the very end, guiding and protecting him, Al and his mother like a father should. He was infallible, invincible, immovable, the gentle leader and the strong protector, the safe haven in an unforgiving world.

But his Father taught him the most important lesson he had ever learned about humanity; people let you down.

And if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he was afraid Mustang would, too.

But despite that, despite how he warned himself against it, he still hoped.

Mustang was here, guiding and protecting, offering his support as if Ed wasn't an inconvenience at all. Not at all like a commanding officer, but almost as a father might. He felt safe when Mustang was near, like no matter how bad things got, he would still be there, the rock in the storm.

But Ed saw his father's back, turning, disappearing out the door and he could see Mustang following him out.

It was foolish to hope, but his heart wanted it all the same.

Pathetic.

"Don't care," Mustang said, guiding him forward though his house. Ed knew his way around the floor ground relatively well from former visits, but that didn't seem to factor in. Mustang guided him past the tile to the carpeted living area.

"That's not an argument," Ed pointed out, wincing when his real leg grazed what Ed remembered was the coffee table, but Mustang didn't let him fall.

"Take it as an order from a superior being."

"Ha. Superiorly stupid."

"That's very witty, Fullmetal," Mustang said, pulling him to the left and up the stairs. "Did you get that from a book?"

Ed snorted even as he mentally counted the stairs. "Why? Is that where you go for your come backs?" Thirteen steps.

Mustang pulled him to the right. In the times Ed had visited his house, he had never gone upstairs. He was regretting that now, and his footsteps became uncertain, but Mustang's grip on his arm tightened and as if reading his mind, he launched into an explanation. "Straight hall ahead, about twenty paces. We're passing the first door on your left. That's the first guest room. The door after that is a linen closet. Across from that is the bathroom. Next door to that is my room. Across from that is the guest bedroom you'll be in. It's bigger than the first."

And closer so I can hear you if something goes wrong, he didn't have to add.

"Close to your room. So I can listen to you snore all night long," Ed muttered.

"I don't snore," Mustang sniffed.

"Why don't you ask anyone who's ever stumbled into your office around two o'clock?"

"Why don't you shut your mouth and go to bed already? Insufferable brat," Mustang growled, but there was no heat to it. He picked up Ed's arm, holding it out so he could feel the doorframe. He could hear Alphonse inside, the armor creaking as he moved to the door. "Here's your room. The bed is straight ahead, the night stand is right next to it on your left. To your right is a dresser, but I see that Alphonse already has your suitcase unpacked into it."

"I hope that's okay . . ." Al said, as polite as ever.

"It's fine, Alphonse," Mustang said gently with a smile in his voice. "Just make yourselves at home. I'll be up at five, so I'll have some breakfast made for you then, if you want it. See you boys tomorrow."

Ed reached out and found Al's sturdy armor right in front of him. He latched onto it and Mustang let him go. He heard the door click shut behind him, then the whisper of Mustang's footsteps as he crossed the hallway into his own room.

But despite his physical absence, his quiet strength remained, reassuring Ed even though he was out of reach; reminding him of his orders, of the faith he promised he had in him.

And Ed hoped Mustang was right.

* * *

_Long chapter is long. Long long long lol. But I couldn't find a decent place to stop it, so I just kept going :'D Consider this an apology for what will probably be a really long delay in the next update haha. I shall explain momentarily. _

_So, with Ed's flashback, I know most people italicize those, but since we were in Ed's POV, I wanted to illustrate how fluid they were and how they sometimes just blended in with his reality. If it's too confusing, would you mind letting me know so I can just italicize it anyways? Lol I don't wanna be confusing xD_

_Okay, replies to reviews from the last chapter are going to take me a while this time. I may get to them tomorrow, it may not be until this weekend, but I want you guys to know that I love your feedback. Reviews are my crack. Never doubt this xD Thanks to all of you guys that read/fav/review! Even you anonymous guys that I don't get to personally thank, thank you! You guys always make me want to write more C:_

_As some of you know, I just got hired to teach music. This means I need to make some lesson plans and attend a butt-load of mind-numbing meetings before school starts, and to top it all off, I'm going out of town next week. This means writing and art are being put on the back burner until I can get things sort of in order lol. I'm going to try to update next week, but I make no promises lol :'D_

_Hope you have a great week!_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	8. Chapter 8

Roy dragged himself down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily. There was only one coherent thought echoing through his mind at the moment: _coffee_.

The night had been long. He hadn't slept well, and was awakened twice by Ed's screams during the night. Both times he had rushed to the boy's room to find him curled up in Alphonse's arms and whimpering.

He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the boy's voice so twisted and distorted by fear and pain. He decided that it wasn't something he wanted to hear again, though he would probably be hearing it often now . . .

He shoved those thoughts aside. It was too early for that. Coffee. Coffee first, thoughts later.

He was surprised to find the lights on in the kitchen, and even more surprised to find Alphonse at the table where he had been last night, books spread out and stacked haphazardly around him, stuffed with loose notes and bookmarks and pencils. He was scribbling furiously in a notebook, his gauntlets a flurry of motion as he wrote.

He didn't seem to notice Roy as he slipped beside him, peering over the suit's massive shoulders to get a look at what had him so driven at five in the morning. Roy had never seen Alphonse's handwriting and had always thought it would be rather distorted by his enormous hands, but that wasn't the case at all. His writing was neat, and though a bit large, it was drawn in an elegant, gentle script that somehow reflected his personality.

"Chi?" Roy asked, murmuring one of the words that had come up four times in the first six sentences.

Alphonse jumped, the pencil etching a jagged line across the page from his startled hand. "Colonel! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry! I was just trying to—"

Roy waved a dismissive hand, cutting off Al's babbling. "No, I was just going to cook some breakfast before I headed for work."

Alphonse's soul fire eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. "Five in the morning? Already?"

"Almost six," Roy corrected, shifting past him and making his way for the coffee pot. "How long have you been down here?"

Alphonse glanced back at his notes. "A while, I guess. Ed hadn't woken up in a while, and while I was sitting with him, I remembered something I read last night and had a thought I wanted to look into. Something about chi. Apparently there's a way to combine alchemy with this 'chi' and use it for healing." His voice was gaining momentum, babbling excitedly in a way that reminded Roy of Ed when he had some kind of breakthrough. The boys had their differences, but they were very much alike when it came to research. "I can't find any mention of it being practiced in Amestris, but it seems to originate in Xing. There's just not enough information about it for me to work with. I thought I'd gone through every medicinal book in the State Library, but this is something I've never heard before. Maybe if I can get back in there, I can find more about it," he hinted, turning hopeful eyes to Roy.

There was no way on earth Roy would deny him that. "I'll have Miss Scheska go through and check out every book there is on chi for you."

Al looked completely ecstatic. "Thank you so much, Colonel!"

Roy smiled and picked up his first cup of coffee. "I can at least manage that much." Alphonse turned back to his books and scribbled a few points on a napkin as Roy watched him. He sipped his drink, letting the rich aroma and the liquid's chemical properties force his mind into some semblance of wakefulness as he took the opportunity to study the boy. He found nothing incredibly enlightening from the cold visage of the armor, though. "How are you holding up?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

Al glanced up as if surprised to be asked such a question. "Me? I'm fine . . . Ed's the one—"

Roy shook his head. "I didn't ask about Ed. This is taking its toll on you, too. It's okay to admit it."

Again, despite the limited expression of the helmet, Alphonse managed to look surprised. Roy wondered with a stab of guilt when the last time was that Alphonse had been treated like a child and not like a hulking suit of armor. It was so hard to remember that Alphonse was only fourteen. He was just a kid, even younger and more sensitive than his brother. It was obviously hard on him to see the one person he relied on so heavily be so broken.

"I'm fine . . ."

Roy arched an eyebrow.

Al looked down at his hands. "Well, I mean . . . I just hate seeing Ed this way . . . He's so scared, and he's never been scared, you know?" His voice was quiet, reflective. "But he hates it so much, and he's trying so hard to protect me from it that he tries to hide everything, but I can still see it. I know it kills him to rely on other people so much. He's so frustrated with himself and everything, and I don't know what to do to help."

"I think you're doing everything you can, Alphonse," Roy assured him, pulling out a chair beside him at the table and dropping into it. "He's not going to improve overnight."

"I know, but he won't even talk to me!" Al said, the frustration in his voice laced with a strange sort of desperation. "I've tried asking him what happened up in Drachma, but whenever I do, he shuts down! He won't talk or move or anything unless I touch him or something scares him."

Roy frowned at that. Despite it being a breach in protocol, he had been putting off getting Ed's report until the boy was more settled, but this complicated things. If he wouldn't even talk about it, it was going to be difficult to get the information Roy needed to find the scum that had put Ed in this position in the first place.

Just the thought of it made his blood boil anew.

He took a sip of coffee, letting it scald his tongue on the way down and settle his thoughts.

"It seems as if he's having some sort of dissociative episode," he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the conversation.

"What can we do, though? He'll never agree to see a psychiatrist for it."

"He'll go," Roy assured him. "It's in his best interests, so I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Though he had yet to work out how he was going to make that happen . . .

A sudden crash made them both jump from their seats.

Roy was the first to move, Al hot on his heels as he followed the stream of muffled swearing to the living room.

The sitting room was still dark in the predawn light, but Roy quickly found the cursing pile of fabric on the floor at the base of the stairs. "What are you doing, Fullmetal?!" he asked, bending down beside the blanket and pulling it back. Ed was curled up on the ground, dressed only a pair of shorts and the bandages around his torso. His only arm cradled his bandaged side as he hissed something that might have been a reply, but was probably more of a declaration of pain.

"You shouldn't be coming down the stairs by yourself!" Roy berated, trying to pull back Ed's hand to get a better look, but Ed resisted the movement.

"I can come down the stairs if I want to!" Ed snapped with a glower aimed too high above Roy's head. He shook Roy's hand away and pulled the blanket back over his shoulder almost protectively, tucking his legs under him with a wince as he made to stand.

"Whoa, Brother, let me help you," Al said, stepping forward to put a hand under Ed's arm.

Ed kept his scowl in place and brushed off his brother's touch, and though he was only a soul bound to a suit of armor, Roy saw the hurt in his glowing red eyes as if they were human. "I can stand up by myself," Edward insisted, granted his was voice much more gentle than it had been for Roy. He gingerly released his side as he sent his hand out, searching for something behind him to pull himself up.

It was Roy's turn to scowl. What had him so upset this early in the morning? "Ed, you're being unreasonable—"

Ed whirled on him, but the effect was somewhat muted by the way he was staring off to Roy's left. "No, _you're_ being unreasonable! I'm blind, not invalid! I'm not just going to sit upstairs and wait for someone to come carry me down like some _cripple." _He spat the word like a curse. "And I'm not going to see some stupid psychiatrist! I can handle what's in my head myself!"

So that was what was really going on. The boy must have been eaves dropping on their conversation from the top of the stairs.

Roy sat back on his heels and took a deep breath, a vain effort to keep his temper in check. Why could the brat not do the smart thing, just for once? "Ed, you're blind. You don't know my house that well, and you're going to fall down the stairs and break your neck!"

"That would be just fine with me," Ed muttered, his voice suddenly muted as he dropped his empty eyes to the floor. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with this crap."

If Ed had shouted it, Roy wouldn't have given it a second thought.

But the hopeless way that he whispered it hit Roy so hard that he couldn't speak. Something cold settled in his gut as the weight of Ed's words sank in.

There was the slightest of chances that Ed was suicidal.

It wasn't uncommon for those who had gone through traumatic events to become that way. Roy himself had teetered on the brink before Hughes had pulled him from the edge, but this hadn't even been a possibility for Ed in Roy's mind.

Ed was so much stronger now than Roy had been.

_There was no way . . ._

"Brother?" Al's voice asked, a hushed, hollow whisper in the suddenly still room.

Ed's eyes widened as if he just realized what he had said. "No, Al, I didn't mean that!" he said, suddenly frantic. He turned to Al, his hand reaching out for him just inches from his metal shins. "I would never do something like that! Al?" he asked, but his brother kept silent. "Alphonse, answer me!" he demanded, hand groping desperately through the air.

With great deliberateness, Alphonse bent down on his knees. Ed froze, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he listened. Roy looked on with a frown. What was the kid doing?

Al settled himself on the floor and leaned forward, mere inches from his brother.

And punched him in the face.

Ed fell back past Roy and landed against the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock as he brought his hand up to his jaw. Admittedly the blow didn't look like it had been very hard, but once the shock of it wore off, Roy tensed, readying himself to deal with one of Ed's flashbacks.

But Ed just rubbed his jaw and stared while Al made shuddering sounds, as if he were trying to calm himself by pretending to breathe. "You're an _idiot_," he hissed, voice low and smoldering before he was shouting, "My brother is a _big, fat idiot!"_

Ed stared ahead, dazed, sightless eyes unblinking as he leaned against the wall. "Al—"

"You _promised_ me!" Al shouted, his voice vibrating with more anger than Roy had ever heard from the boy. Even he wanted to shrink away from Al's sudden rage. "You're not allowed to die because we have to get our bodies back! How could you even _say_ such a thing?!

"And so what if you're blind? _So what? _I can't do this by myself, Brother! I need you, and now you need me! Is it so bad that I want to help you? We're only trying to help you get better, and all you do is throw it back in our faces?! You've been taking care of me for seven years, Brother. It's time for you to let me take care of you!"

Ed's mouth moved up and down wordlessly for a moment before some of the shock on his face dissolved away, like dust in the rain. His expression softened, and in the dimness, Roy almost could have sworn he saw his lip twitch in a ghost of a smile. "You're right, Al," Ed murmured, looking down. "You're right. I know you're only trying to help, and I'm just . . . not being very cooperative, am I?" he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted this morning."

Leave it to Alphonse to get an apology out of Edward Elric.

Al took a shaky breath and nodded, though Ed couldn't see it. "And you'll go to the psychiatrist?"

A wince crossed his face, but it disappeared quickly. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll try it once," he said, the words seemingly reluctant to leave his lips.

"Six times," Al insisted.

Ed blinked. "Six?! That's an awful lot to just try something—"

"Six times," Al repeated, more forcibly. "Twice a week for three weeks."

The blond scowled. "Fine! I'll try it six times!"

Al's eyes seemed to soften, a certain warmth flooding them that contrasted sharply with the cold steel of his armor. "Thank you, Brother."

His scowl stayed firmly on his face. "But it's for you. Not for Colonel Jerk-face."

"Well," Roy commented, "Colonel 'Jerk-face' needs to look at your side now." He moved to sit beside Ed against the wall and took the opportunity to visually scan Ed's torso while his hand was out of the way, still cradling his jaw. "You didn't tear out any stitches, did you?" he asked, reaching out to peel back some of the thick bandages.

Ed flinched at the touch, but didn't swat him away this time. "It's fine," he said.

"Ed," his brother warned, a subtle hint at the conversation they had just had.

"Okay, so it hurts, but there's nothing either of you can do about it!" Ed amended grumpily, but he let Roy pull back the linens. A bit of blood seeped from four of the stitched injuries between his ribs and on his stomach where a couple of the stitches had torn lose, but nothing more. Still, with Silas moving his appointments down to twice a week, the wounds would need to be mended, cleaned and redressed.

"You're bleeding a bit, and several of these tore open. We'll have to clean this up," Roy said, looking to Alphonse. "Grab his hospital bag."

"You're going to be late to work," Al said, somehow managing to sound guilty. "We can take care of it."

"Yeah," Ed said a little too quickly, reaching for the blanket that had somehow gotten wrapped around his legs and pulling it over himself, hiding his torso from view. "Al can help me."

If Roy were being honest with himself, he would admit to feeling a twinge of hurt at the way Ed had said it, as if afraid of having Roy help him with the task.

Roy brushed it aside. Ridiculous.

"Fine. I trust you can handle breakfast as well, then?" he asked the suit of armor. "I have to be there in fifteen minutes, or Hawkeye is going to shoot me."

"In that case, maybe you should stick around a while longer," Ed suggested sweetly.

"Only if it's so I can shoot you," Roy muttered. On that note, he dragged himself to his feet and to the kitchen, dumping his mug of cooling coffee into a paper cup before shrugging on his winter coat and leaving the house.

He absently hoped the Elrics didn't destroy it by the time he got back.

* * *

The fall from the stairs hadn't been all that bad, really. As far as Ed's careful fingers could tell, there were just a few pulled stitches between his ribs and his stomach, and a bit of blood. His whole side was on fire, but it shouldn't be that big of a deal to stitch it back up, right?

Right after Mustang had left, Al tried to see to the wound, and although Ed wasn't comfortable with anyone touching his body, especially so close to something that hurt, he decided he could do that much for Al's peace of mind, and besides, Al wasn't just anybody; he had been tending to Ed's injuries for as long as Ed could remember.

So he had done his best to lay quietly so Al could see to the wounds and tried his best not to hyperventilate as irrational fear threatened to suffocate him and yank his mind to the past. Silas had always had to give him a mild tranquilizer when performing his examinations, so Ed thought he did a pretty good job of not passing out or having a flashback or ripping Al's arm off in a terrified frenzy.

But the way his gauntlets moved across his skin was all too familiar, cruel gloved hands roughly tracing up and down his emaciated rib cage, digging in to find the hallows between bones perfect for sliding in thick nails or small blades . . .

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the sensation go away. His hand dug into the blanket beside him on the bed. It was soft and warm. It wasn't the basement. He was safe. It was only Al, it was only Al, it was only Al . . .

Suddenly all the contact was gone. He heard Al step away and frowned. "I can't do it, Brother," Al murmured in a voice that could only be described as defeated.

He immediately reached for his blanket and pulled it back around him, as if it would somehow protect him. "Why not?"

"Because . . . I can't feel pressure, and you keep moving and I don't want to hurt you . . . I'm sorry, Brother."

The tone of his voice broke Ed's heart. He said it like it was all his fault and not Ed's, when he was the one that couldn't get his stupid fears under control. "No, Al, I'm sorry. Here, just try it again. I'll try not to move, I promise." Though every instinct he had fought against it, he pulled the blanket back, the cool air of the room raising gooseflesh on his bare stomach.

Cold, just like in the basement . . .

No. _No._

Ed pulled the fabric back over him, squeezing his eyes shut even as his breathing quickened. He held his breath. He would not think about it. He would not he would not _he would not._

He heard Al move beside him, kneeling at the bedside. "No, Ed, we don't have to. You . . . you're scared of me," he said, his voice breaking. "So we don't have to."

Ed felt his horror and frustration like a weight on his chest, crushing him, making it hard to breathe at all. "Al, I'm not scared of you," he insisted, unashamed that his pleas sounded an awful lot like begging. He reached out with his hand, latching on to Al's gauntlet on the bed beside him. It was so cold, but despite the absence of a body, he could _feel_ Al's soul in there, thrumming through the metal with his life and energy. He had always been able to feel it, and it was the most comforting thing Ed had experienced even before his sight was taken.

"Al, please, I'm sorry. I'm not scared of you, you know that. I could never be scared of you, you're my little brother."

"Why won't you tell me what happened, then?" he asked, voice small and hurt. "Why don't you trust me enough with that?"

Just the thought of remembering . . . Ed's hand released his brother and wrapped around his throat. The bed was too soft, the air too thick, the wolves too close. He curled up on his side, the blanket tightening around him as he did. The pressure was soothing, and he tried to control his breathing.

In, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold.

If he thought about it, he would find himself back there. He would realize that this was all some kind of strange, beautiful dream, like a façade that only held if he didn't question it. If he remembered, he would wake up, and if that happened, he knew for a fact that his fractured mind wouldn't survive it.

And worst of all, it was hurting Al and there was nothing Ed could do about it.

How was he supposed to be there for Al like this? How could he take care of his little brother if he panicked when he touched him, shut down when he asked him questions?

It tore him apart inside. He could feel the conflict, the anguish in his gut, clawing his stomach like a beast trying to rip free. Sudden heat burned behind his eyes, and though he tried so hard to force the tears down, to at least show Al some semblance of the big brother he had once been, he couldn't fight the raw agony rushing through his veins. Hot tears spilled down his face, and he sobbed into the feathery down of the pillow under his head.

"Brother?" Al whispered, horrified and uncertain.

And Ed could do nothing to comfort him. He couldn't even stop his own tears, much less the phantom ones he could hear in his little brother's voice.

But he couldn't just sit there while Al was hurting, even if he was the cause of it. "A—Al, it's okay," he sniffled, trying to tear his hand away from his own throat. He finally got his fingers to loosen and sought out Al. "It's okay, Al, don't cry," he whispered, finally finding Al's hand again and grabbing hold.

"I can't . . . I'm not crying, Brother," Al said, sounding both surprised and confused.

Ed could feel his lips twitch into a thin, watery smile. "I'm your brother, Al," he said, trying to blink tears away. "You can't hide from me in that suit of armor."

For a moment, everything went still. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, and if he didn't have Al's hand under his own, he would have thought his brother wasn't there at all.

"Al?" he asked.

He felt the mattress shift and the hand under his move as Al reached his gauntlets under his knees and back, lifting him into the air blanket and all.

"Al!" he hissed, flailing for some kind of purchase as he was held in midair, disoriented as the room seemed to spin around him.

Then he felt his side touch something cold and he knew he was being held in his little brother's arms, cradled to his chest like a child. "Al?" he asked, confused, uncomfortable, and a bit worried.

"I'm sorry, Ed," Al whispered, "but . . . can we just . . . I mean . . ."

Though he was finding it hard to ask, Ed suddenly realized what his little brother needed. How long had it been since Ed had just given him a hug? Or hit him on the shoulder, or pat his head, or do anything for him other than lean on him and use him as some kind of crutch?

Right now his little brother needed this, this physical contact that was supportive and familial, even if he couldn't feel it like a normal person. He had always been needier than Ed was in that regard, always seeking out hugs from him and his parents and the Rockbells, even as a little kid. He wanted to be held as a toddler, and he liked to hold their mom's hand, even in public when Ed would be too embarrassed to do it.

And now it had been months since Ed had so much as seen him, and Ed wasn't going to deny him this. He had been so selfish, and no doubt Al was drained and exhausted from taking care of him. It was easy to get so caught up in the nightmares of his mind and forget his little brother had needs, too.

He leaned his head against Al's shoulder, letting the cool metal soothe his still-spinning head. "Sure, Al," he answered, a small smile twitching his lips.

He felt Al move, slowly sitting down on the ground with a groan of metal. Steel legs folded underneath him and he was gently lowered into his little brother's lap, his huge arms wrapping around him.

And there in his brother's solid grip, Ed had never felt safer. He leaned into the cold metal, more comforting than human flesh, and closed his eyes.

The thrum of his brother's soul gently lulled him into his first dreamless sleep in months.

* * *

_-EDIT- Someone just asked when I update. I try to update 7-12 days after my last update, but I don't dare get any more specific than that. Heaven knows the day I do is the day life laughs in my face and I lose internet access for a month. This past update was an exception to the rule, since I told you guys I was going out of town, but yeah. Usually a week or a little over c: -END EDIT-_

_I love brotherly fluff c: Best siblings EVER. _

_Not sure if I'm happy with this or not, but I've kept you guys waiting for a while . . . so I posted it anyways lol. It was going to be so much longer, but I decided to hold off on the last scene for the next chapter, since it's giving me fits ._

_Many of you have asked what color Ed's blanket is . . . I don't think I want you to know yet, because it's something Ed's going to eventually wonder about and I don't want it ruined for you, if there's anything to be ruined lol xD It has to do with symbolism and me trying to be a good writer. I don't know if it will pan out like I want it to, but I'm going to try anyways :'D_

_Hope you enjoyed 'Stroke' while you were waiting for this chapter xD It was sort of my "sorry I'm not updating in a timely manner" fic. You may be wondering at this time if I am ashamed of this blatant self-promotion. The answer is no, not at all c:_

_Remember when i told you I was super busy? Still am lol :'D I'll try to reply to the reviews on the last chapter and on 'Stroke' by my next update._

_Bed time. Bed time now._

_ God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	9. Chapter 9

Roy was pleased to see his house was still standing when he came home from work.

He quickly transitioned from his car to the house, ducking inside out of the cold winter air. Weather reports said it was due to snow during the week and he was not looking forward to it at all.

"Boys?" he called, depositing a bag of library books on the floor before bolting the door and hanging his coat on the rack beside him.

"In here," Al answered from the kitchen.

Ditching his shoes and keys, Roy unbuttoned his military jacket and made his way to the kitchen. His nose suddenly caught the scent of tomatoes and garlic, making his stomach rumble hopefully as he stepped into the warm kitchen.

Alphonse was bent over the counter, slicing up onions while Ed was perched on the cabinet by the stove, his only arm absently stirring a pot of something over the burner beside him. Despite the two moving beings present though, there was a sort of stillness to everything. The air was permeated by the rich, nostalgic scent of home cooking. Steam swirled above their heads, illuminated by the soft overhead lighting and giving everything an almost surreal feel. Roy didn't normally pay attention to such things, but something about the whole scene gave him pause.

It was so . . . normal.

Roy couldn't help but stop just admire it. If he tried hard enough, Ed looked almost content, as if his sight wasn't gone and he had been good and well the past few months, and Al looked at peace there beside his brother, as if he hadn't spent weeks out trekking through the wilderness searching for him.

But the nostalgic image evaporated when Ed suddenly let out a hiss and jerked his hand back, dropping the wooden spoon into the pot. His eyes went wide as if being thrown into a flash back and everything stopped.

Roy's breath caught in his throat.

Al froze, soul fire eyes glued on his brother.

Then Ed shook his head, taking a shuddering breath and bringing his injured finger to his lips, eyes falling shut in what Roy now recognized as a sign he was trying to center himself.

"I told you to be careful, Ed," Al said lightly, but his own voice was shaky, as if he were trying too hard to react as he normally would to Ed before he was like this.

Roy had no such inhibitions. "Fullmetal, get down from there," he ordered, coming around the bar to help him down. "You shouldn't be around the stove."

Ed scowled as he neared. "If you touch me, I will plant my automail foot in your face," he promised, his hand carefully reaching beside him to find the wooden spoon.

He was going to burn himself again, and what would happen if he had a full-blown flashback and fell onto the heating element? If he got seriously hurt, there was no telling what it would do to his fragile mind . . .

Roy snatched the spoon and batted Ed's hand away. "There's a difference between being independent and being stupid. Remember what we talked about this morning?"

Ed's scowl darkened. "That was for my brother, not for you," he said.

Roy's temper started to simmer more than the pot before him. It had been a long, trying day at the office, full of dead ends and Generals breathing down his neck and he was _not_ in the mood to deal with this. "Fullmetal, I am ordering you to get off that counter!"

"I'm not your military dog anymore! I don't have to listen to you!"

"It's _my_ counter!"

"I'm making _you_ food, ungrateful jerk!"

Roy paused and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to rein his anger in. Yelling at Ed only made him yell back. It might have been an effective tactic for dealing with disobedient soldiers, but it was completely useless when arguing with the small blond alchemist.

If he was going to share his home with the boy, it was probably time he learned that lesson.

"Brother, why don't you let the Colonel see about your stitches?" Al suggested tentatively.

Roy turned to glance at the suit of armor, then back to Ed. "You mean you didn't get them taken care of?" He didn't mean to sound so accusing, but both Ed and Al flinched regardless.

Al looked back down at the onions. "Um, well—"

"It's not his fault, it's mine," Ed muttered, hand curling to cover his side. "So don't blame him for it."

"I'm not blaming anyone," he assured the blond, doing his best to make his voice quiet and even. "Let me help you down, then I'll wash and we can look at it, okay?"

Ed looked like he was going to protest.

"Please, Brother?" Al asked.

The retort Ed was preparing was released in a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping and he nodded. "Fine. Al, stay here, okay?"

Roy frowned. It was odd that Ed wouldn't want his brother around, unless he was expecting something bad to happen. In that case, it would be stupid to _not_ have Al there, but maybe that was another one of his attempts to protect Al from himself . . .

"Okay, Brother," Al said, looking a bit dejected, but it seemed like he had expected as much.

Ed only flinched a little as Roy took his elbow and helped him slid off the counter. The damaged automail leg gave underneath him, though, and Roy had to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Ed!" Alphonse yelped, jumping to come to his aide.

Ed waved him and Roy off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. You people freak out about everything," he grumbled, righting himself and finding his blanket that had fallen on the floor. Roy helped him drape it around himself, much to Ed's obvious discomfort, and watched as he ran his hand along the counter and limped out of the kitchen, almost tripping on a chair on his way by.

Al sighed as he left. "He's so stubborn."

"I can still hear you!" Ed called.

"He's also an annoying pipsqueak," Roy pointed out.

Ed made a strangled sound.

Roy smirked and ignored him. "How has he been today?"

"Just fine!" Ed snapped from the living room.

"I wasn't talking to you," Roy responded. "I wanted an accurate account."

Ed muttered something Roy couldn't make out, and Roy's smirk broadened. It was nice that some things didn't change.

Al dropped his voice to a low murmur and told him that apart from that morning and when he had tried to tend to his injuries, he had had a pretty good day. There was only one really bad flashback, but it seemed he was doing even better in Roy's house than at the dorms.

"It's like he's more comfortable here for some reason," Al mused, adding his onions to the simmering pot. "Maybe it's because you're here."

Roy blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Al turned away sheepishly. If he had been in flesh and blood, Roy was sure he would have blushed. "I mean, he's always been more at ease when you're around. Like he doesn't have to be the adult for a little while, you know?"

"Yelling constitutes 'more at ease'?" Roy retorted, turning to wash his hands in the sink.

Al picked up a pepper and put the knife to it. "You know Brother. He can't express himself with words. But we talked today and I think I realized . . . I think he's trying to push us away and be so independent because he doesn't disappoint us. He doesn't want you to think less of him because he can't do what he used to be able to."

Roy frowned, wiping his hands on a cup towel. "Why would he believe I would think less of him? After what he's been through, it's only natural—"

"Maybe you should tell him."

"Tell him?" Roy demanded incredulously. "Tell him what?!"

"Just talk to him, Colonel. He needs to hear that it's okay for him to not be the same just yet. And he needs to hear it from someone that's not me."

Roy leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. He was fully aware that it made him look like a petulant child. "And why's that?"

"Sir, he trusts you to take care of him physically, but he's scared you expect him to be someone he can't be right now and that . . . that you won't accept him anymore. He knows that I'll love him no matter what, because he's my brother, but you walked into our lives, and really, it wouldn't be hard to imagine you walking back out now that Ed's not military anymore."

Roy felt his chest tighten, like something cold and heavy just sat on him. Was that really how they felt? That he would abandon them the moment it became too much of an inconvenience?

"Walk out? Alphonse, I'm not going to just ditch you two!"

He knew that the boys had trust issues. Their father had abandoned them when they were barely more than toddlers, and they had seen their fair share of the darker side of humanity since then. When Roy thought about it, from their perspective Roy was just another person with an ulterior motive, and he had admittedly done little to dissuade that image over the past few years.

And then after Roy's last mistake, sending Ed up North . . .

Really, it was no wonder they wouldn't trust him.

Roy almost cringed when he saw the boy's broad shoulders slump with relief, as if he had been looking for some kind of confirmation all along. "That's . . . that's good to hear." He was still for a minute, then straightened. "You should tell him."

Roy's mouth moved up and down wordlessly. Tell him? What was he supposed to say?! What words could possibly make up for any of it? "Alphonse—"

Al turned to face him, crimson eyes pleading. "Please? He needs it."

All of his protests died on his lips. He let out a weary sigh, bringing a hand to massage his forehead. "I'll try," he promised.

He was supposed to just waltz in and tell Ed not to worry, that he didn't think he was weak or pathetic and Roy wouldn't dump him on the side of the road like a puppy that outgrew the house.

Was there a way to say it without getting an automail foot in his face? Roy didn't think so.

Ed was curled up on the couch, unaware of the dark that was starting to creep in with the waning light outside. He was almost completely hidden under the blanket, like a child hiding from a nightmare.

Roy found himself wishing that it was from something as trivial as that.

Something that wasn't his fault.

He stepped around the sofa and turned on the table lamp, setting the hospital bag on the coffee table behind him. "Al says you had a good day," Roy commented, perching himself on the edge of the table and unpacking the necessary supplies.

He could practically hear Ed scowl. "A _good day_," he scoffed. "I'm not some kid in preschool, Mustang."

Five seconds into the conversation and Roy had already blown it. Wonderful. "That's not what I meant."

"Fine, then. Yes, I had a good day. The best part was when you walked out the door this morning."

Roy smirked. "You're in a fine mood tonight, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, the good day ended when you came _back_."

"I can't help you with the stitches with the blanket and shirt in the way."

Slowly, the blanket came back to reveal Ed's sullen face. "Do we have to do this?" he asked. "It can't be that bad."

Roy grabbed a bottle of disinfectant. "If it's torn open, there's a chance for infection. You know that."

His response didn't seem to satisfy the blond, but he raised his hand and slowly pulled his shirt up, exposing his gaunt torso riddled with stitches, bandages and old scars, all covering his pale skin like grotesque graffiti.

Roy winced upon seeing it in the better light. Why did this have to happen to Ed?

"Hurry."

The request wasn't so much impatient as it was fearful, and that made Roy's heart clench.

He leaned forward and quickly got to work, removing the rest of the bandages and examining the torn flesh. The worst of it was his lower side, where one of the dog bites had been. It was a grisly wound that wouldn't heal prettily no matter what ministrations were given it.

Ed was a bundle of tension, with his jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and Roy was afraid he would pass out. Maybe conversation would make him feel more at ease? "The crew wanted me to tell you hello," he said.

Ed grunted a response, but said nothing.

So much for that, then.

Roy sprayed disinfectant on a sterile cloth. "This is going to sting."

Ed gritted his teeth and hissed as the fluid made contact with his open wounds. Roy did his best to cleanse the area and mop up the remaining blood quickly, but before he could finish, the boy gasped, pulling his hand up to his throat and making a chocking sound.

Roy immediately pulled his hands back. "Ed?"

One shaky, ragged breath later, "It's nothing," he whispered. "Just hurry."

Roy dabbed a numbing agent over the area. "So, how are you liking it here?" he tried again, hoping the conversation would take some of the edge off, or at least distract him a bit. At this point, he would have given anything for tranquilizers to give the kid. He hated seeing him this way. It wasn't fair and it wasn't _Ed._

"I like it fine," Ed replied. "Especially when you're not here."

"And here I was, thinking you were just accepting my offer to be closer to me. I understand I am something of an idol for you, so it would be understandable."

He snorted derisively. "As if I would want to become a lazy, worthless, ego-tripping idiot." He didn't seem to notice Roy had started sewing the wound shut.

Roy was suddenly, overwhelmingly curious. "So why did you accept the offer, then?" he asked, all hint of teasing gone. Ed made it plain as day that he didn't particularly like Roy at all. So why had he agreed to stay? It wasn't as if Roy would have let him turn down the offer, but he didn't even put up much of a fight. Now that Roy stopped to question it, it didn't make any sense.

Maybe the kid didn't hate him as much as he let on. It would make saying what needed to be said that much easier if he knew it would be accepted and not hurled back in his face via Ed's fist.

Another snort, but it wasn't quite as easy as the first had been. He twitched as Roy tugged the needle through a ragged flap of skin. "Al wanted to stay. Besides, it's easier to bum off of you."

Of course it was Al. Roy couldn't say he was surprised, but he had hoped that maybe there was something else there, that maybe Ed didn't completely hate him for what happened. Al wasn't usually wrong about his brother, but he must have been off this time. There was no way Ed could possibly trust Roy, or would even want to trust him.

And yet . . .

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."

Ed blinked as if surprised. "What?"

"I said," Roy drawled, "that I'm glad you're here. Now it's more convenient than ever for me to make fun of you."

Ed scowled. "That's what I thought, smug jerk."

"And makes it easier for me to look out for you."

Ed opened his mouth the let out another insult, then shut it as he processed what Roy just said. "Mustang . . ." he began uncertainly, twisting a bit where he lay as if completely uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation.

"Don't move so much, Fullmetal. You'll make me stitch outside of the lines."

He scowled, but there was an ease to it, a relief that the conversation had returned to familiar territory. "That's what I get for letting an incompetent moron do it."

Roy finished tying off the last of the stitches. "Well, I'm already finished, so I can't be that incompetent."

Ed blinked, hand moving to feel his side. "Already?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I've stitched you up plenty of times, remember?"

He quickly pulled his shirt down and wrapped the blanket around himself. Roy watched the boy try to get up with one arm for a moment before gently taking his elbow and helping him to his feet. "I can stand up myself, Mustang," Ed groused, but didn't shake him away as he led him around the sofa and back into the kitchen.

"You can also trip all by yourself. That's very impressive."

"Almost as impressive as your incompetence," Ed muttered.

"And yet, nowhere near as impressive as your midget-like stature."

"I'm not short, you oversized freak!"

"Are you guys arguing again?" Al sighed as Roy guided the blond into a chair.

"No," they both said.

Al looked back and forth in between them with something between affection and irritation before setting two plates full of pasta on the set table. "If you guys think you can sit here alone and not kill each other, I'm going to go check out those books you brought back."

"No promises," Ed muttered, reaching out in front of him and feeling for a fork.

"We'll be fine," Roy assured him, taking his own seat. "Thank you both for the meal. It's nice to come home to real food."

"I'll bet," Ed said, shoveling too much food into his mouth and rendering his next comment about Roy's lacking food stores all but unintelligible.

"I was stocking for one, not one and a teenager with the appetite of a grasshopper."

"Who are you calling small?!" he demanded around his food.

_"Sir,"_ Al said exasperatedly. "He's going to choke."

Ed finally swallowed. "More like I'm going to choke _him_," he said, shoving in the next forkful.

Roy tried to keep his teasing about the boy's appetite to a minimum, generally. The first time he had eaten real food since his rescue, he almost decked a nurse that got too close to him. Even now as Roy watched, he was hunched over his meal protectively, as if afraid someone would get too close and snatch it away from him. If Roy had to guess, that was probably what had happened to him in that basement, and it made Roy's blood boil to just think about it.

But sometimes, Roy thought the teasing helped the kid. It was an old habit, a favorite routine that was as long-standing as their relationship. There was something blissfully natural about Ed's responses, as if it were as easy as breathing, and at times, it almost seemed like the boy's irritation was a front, a barrier to hide how relieved he was that something in his life was consistent.

Roy couldn't be sure, though . . .

The phone in the living room let out a shrill ring.

"I'll get it," Al said, rushing out of the room, his metal footsteps clanking down the hall.

Roy stared after the boy before settling back in his chair. He could hear Alphonse picking up the phone in the hall on the third ring and murmur a polite greeting, but the rest of the conversation was lost to him.

Beside him, Ed suddenly froze. The fork slipped from his hand, clattering noisily against the plate and bouncing off to hit the table. His face became as pale as death.

Roy frowned. He would have assumed it was a flashback, but he didn't have the same glazed look he usually got when he was trapped in a memory. "Ed?"

He worked his jaw up and down a moment before sound came out. "She's . . . tomorrow . . . _tomorrow_ . . ."

"Who? What are you—?"

Alphonse suddenly flew around the corner, soul-fire eyes wide with panic. "Winry's coming _tomorrow!"_

* * *

_Whooooohoo, guys! Cutting it close to that updating every 7-12 days thing, huh? :'D I think I made it, though. Sort of._

_Roy's got insecurities D: Poor guy. He just doesn't want Ed and Al to hate him :C_

_I know I haven't responded to reviews in two chapters. I am so, sooooo sorry. Most of you know I got my first teaching job, and the first day was okay, but I came home and went straight to sleep almost haha. The second day I cried because it was just an awful day (please be kind to your teachers! ;w;). The rest of the week has been stress to the max, so I figured you would much rather me devote what little energy I had to spare writing than to responding. Again, I WILL get them all responded to for the last two chapters of this fic and for "Stroke." It shall be done this weekend, or I just won't go to sleep on Sunday until I have c:_

_You guys are the best. If you would, please review, and I'll see you next chapter (or when I respond to your reviews c:)._

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	10. Chapter 10

_Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . ._

The word echoed in Ed's mind over and over again, an awful record stuck in a glitch.

Winry was coming _tomorrow_.

He was vaguely aware of Al and Mustang talking, but it sounded far away, as if hearing it through a wall.

_"Tomorrow? Why the sudden change?"_

_"I don't know! Miss Hawkeye said Winry just called the office to make sure we were still in Central! She's getting on a train tonight!"_

_"Then she should be here around lunch."_

He could hear the blood rushing through his ears now, and his body felt light, as if he weren't even in it anymore. He was sure that if he could see, his vision would be tunneling.

Of course, if he could see, then this wouldn't be a problem.

"Ed?" Mustang's voice suddenly pierced through the haze, bringing back the weight of everything, making his chest feel suddenly heavy.

_Tomorrow . . ._

He shook his head slowly, trying in vain to clear it. "I can't . . . _I can't . . ."_ He tried to tell them, but the words wouldn't come. "She can't see me like this," he whimpered instead. "She can't see _this."_

"Brother—?" Al questioned somewhere above and behind him.

Why didn't they understand?!

_"I'm not ready!"_ he wailed, sounding desperate even to his own ears. "She wasn't supposed to be here until next week! Why is she coming _tomorrow?"_ It was getting hard to breathe, as if his lungs were too small to take in the air he needed. He felt like he was suffocating.

Something warm and steady settled on his shoulder. He flinched from the sudden contact, but it didn't budge. "Ed, you need to calm down," Mustang said, low and steady. "You need to calm down and think about this."

Neither of them understood. But how could they? They had never been so pathetic, so helpless before. It was a special torture that seemed to be reserved for him alone.

Not that he didn't deserve it, but that didn't mean he wanted it, either.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "It's not supposed to be like this . . ."

The hand tightened around his bicep. "Fullmetal," Mustang said, his voice firmer, a clear warning for Ed to get a hold of himself.

How could he, though? He was pathetic and helpless and _stuck here_. He suddenly needed to move, to be anywhere but here, but where could he go? He couldn't leave the house. He'd be hit by a car within the hour.

But he couldn't just sit there, knowing she would be here _tomorrow_.

He pushed away from the table, so suddenly that it hardly registered in his mind that he did it. In the same motion, he shook off Roy's grip and moved, his hand trailing the table and the wall, moving with his broken, stumbling gait to where the living room should be.

Stupid automail. If it wasn't for that, she wouldn't even have to know what had happened, how he had failed.

The anxiety tugged at him, shadowy wisps of terror that raked down his spine, reminding him of the feeling he'd get when he heard footsteps upstairs, his captors running across creaking floorboards to get him, to drag him out by the neck and hurt him for things he didn't know. The door creaked open and cold seeped into his very bones, the fear freezing him from the inside out—

"Brother, where are you going?" Al's concerned voice rang out, jarring him free from the memory that had almost taken him.

He shook his head. He had to keep moving, to do something. _Anything_. Anything to keep from thinking about her and her being there and seeing him like this.

He didn't have an answer for Alphonse, so he didn't reply. He kept moving, staggering uncertainly as the floor below gave way to carpet.

Then his stupid automail leg locked up once more and he fell with a surprised cry, shoulder grazing the wall as he crashed to the ground in a heap of fabric, flesh and metal.

He could hear both Roy and Alphonse at his side in an instant. Again, that warm hand latched onto his arm. "Fullmetal, where are you going?" Mustang demanded sharply, the tone overlaying something almost like worry.

Ed flinched at the harsh demand, but he tried to tell him. "She's coming _tomorrow_. I can't just sit there! I need to . . . I need to . . ." He frowned in frustration. How could he possibly explain it to them when he wasn't sure what he was doing himself? "To do _something!"_

"And what would that something be?" Mustang asked, voice low with disapproval. "Stagger and stumble around the room until you give yourself a concussion?"

And the sad thing was, it was true. Ed could move all he wanted, but he would just end up breaking something, or hurting himself and upsetting Al. He was free of that basement, but because of what they did to him, they had guaranteed he would always be a prisoner in his own body.

And now not only did he have to share the shame with his precious brother and the man he tried to tell himself he didn't admire more than anyone, but now with Winry.

She was his measure of normalcy, the one unchanging thing in his life. No matter what atrocities he committed, what madness the world threw at him, what chaos shredded his life, the Rockbell home was the one place he could go to escape. It was the one place he could put aside his responsibilities, just for a little while, and be truly happy with Al and his extended family.

But her, coming here, seeing this . . . the illusion would be shattered. She would find him in this place of despair, even more helpless than he had been the night he had lost his arm and leg and Al's body. She would see him broken and destroyed, a husk of who he was supposed to be. The way he was, he couldn't take care of himself, much less his little brother or her.

She would see his weakness, his failure, and it was intolerable.

What would she think of him? The boy that wasn't afraid of anything, quailing at unexpected whispers, freezing up when he heard running water. The boy that protected her from bullies and snakes, hiding under a blanket.

She would see his weakness and treat him like a fragile vase, too thin and brittle to be the boy she knew. Nothing would be the same ever again, and this would be the final nail in the coffin. The last vestiges of normalcy would die the moment she found out and that was that.

Maybe that's why he was so afraid, why he had to move, to run away. If she found out, there would be no place to hide. There was no normal left, no one else to lie to, and he would finally have to admit it to himself.

Admit that he was blind, helpless and useless, doomed to live out the rest of his life in darkness, to never atone for his sins.

Forever condemning Alphonse to be nothing more than a soul trapped in a suit of armor.

He leaned against the wall, pulling his legs up to his face, despair threatening to drown him.

"Brother?" Al asked.

"What am I supposed to do?" Ed asked, despising how weak his voice sounded as he hugged himself, blanket pulled taught around him. "She'll . . . she'll cry, and—" a sudden, terrible thought entered his mind. "What if I hit her?! Al . . . Mustang, what if I _hurt_ Winry? What if I—"

"You're not going to hurt Winry," Mustang interrupted firmly. "You'll do no such thing."

Ed shook his head. "I've hurt people before. Don't try to tell me I haven't, I'm blind, not stupid," he hissed before either of them could interject. Ed knew when he had done some damage. Well, maybe not in the moment, but afterwards he could gather pretty well when someone was hurt because of him. He knew Al, Mustang and others had received their fair share of dents and bruises at his hand. One particularly violent flashback had ended up with one of the nurses at the hospital admitted to the emergency room. It was stupid to assume nothing would happen just because it was Winry. As much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn't in control of himself all of the time.

"We won't let you hurt her, Ed," Al promised, a leather gauntlet coming to rest on Ed's other shoulder. "I'll be right there the whole time."

Ed hadn't assumed otherwise, but hearing it took the faintest edge off of his anxiety.

But would that be enough?

Al was everything. He was Ed's whole world, inside and out. He was the sole reason Ed was still alive, but right there, in that moment, he needed something more.

Ed tried to turn to Mustang's general direction. He opened his mouth, trying to ask if he would be there, too, but the request wouldn't make it past his lips.

He had taken too much from Mustang. It would be pushing his luck to ask for any more. Besides, it wouldn't be too much longer before Mustang grew tired of him and his pathetic needs and baggage and kicked him out. It was just how life worked, the Law of Equivalency. He had nothing to give, so there was no reason for Mustang to let him stay any longer than his conscience dictated, despite what he said about being "glad Ed was here." The only reason he was probably doing this now was in a vain hope that Ed's sight would be miraculously restored and he would once again be a useful dog of the military, another boost to his goal of Fuhrer.

Hoenheim left for reasons similar; his family provided nothing for him, so he had gone.

Mustang could be expected to do the same. It was just the way people were. Ed didn't want to admit to himself how much that hurt, how much he hoped he was wrong and that Mustang wasn't just like Hoenheim.

But that just goes to show how pathetic he had become.

Winry would find out and his life in Resembool would be over. Mustang would soon reject him after that. He and Al would be left alone, and Al only because he wouldn't leave Ed's side for anything.

And if Ed really loved his brother, then at that point, he would do everything in his power to sever that connection. For Alphonse.

Ed knew all of this would happen, but he just wasn't ready for it to happen so _soon_.

He could feel his body trembling, rebelling against him as the fear and exhaustion became too much. Mustang's hand was still on his left shoulder, and Al's on his right, both supporting him, one firm, one gentle.

"Come on, Brother," Al said softly, giving Ed's empty shoulder port a small shake. "You should finish eating and get some rest."

He was famished before, but even with his newly developed instinct to eat everything he could while he could, the thought of food seemed particularly nauseating. Like after being dissected and cut up for hours, the scent of his own burning flesh hanging thickly around him. He was too sickened by the pain and the smell to hope to keep anything down. Somewhere nearby, the wolves were fighting over the scraps of food that had been brought down, but Ed hurt too much to fight for his share. He had thrown up every last bit of bile in his emaciated stomach, and the scent of old meat almost convinced him to throw up his intestines as well.

His lungs labored to bring in enough of the frigid air, hoping it would settle him somehow. He needed to be ready. As soon as the dogs were finished with their meal, they would come to him, crazed with hunger and the scent of his blood.

He pressed his hand to his side, trying to staunch the bleeding on his right even as more fluid seeped between the ribs on his left. He was so sick and so dizzy. He wasn't sure there would be a way to fight them off this time, not like this.

Never before had they hurt him for this long. Maybe they were getting desperate, hoping that he would break in time for something, like a preemptive strike on Amestris forces or some sort of ambush on their supply lines.

But Ed didn't know the answers to their interrogations, so it was really easy for him to tell them what they could do with their questions.

He pressed his shoulder to his jaw, even as he tried to hold his side. He had been trying for heaven-knows how long to get under their skin, to get an emotional reaction from them. To get them back the only way he could. Tonight, one of them had hauled off and punched him in the jaw. No snide comments, no cruel jokes about his naked, wasting body or pretty little dissections of the muscles in his back. Just a pure, animalistic, angry reaction to his defiance.

He was relatively sure something in his face was fractured, but there was a certain amount of smugness he felt about it, like it was his own small victory. It tasted like hope.

And if anything killed faster than knives and wolves and starvation, it was hope.

People with hope died of a broken heart.

Something ghosted past him, and he straightened. He couldn't stop shaking from the cold and possibly shock, but he was ready. He showed the Drachmans what he was made of, and now he would show these stupid mutts.

One of them moved his shoulder, wrapping his jaws around his bicep, but he was ready. Before the beast could draw blood, he swung his head and bit the creature in the neck. Hard.

The ensuing cry was anything but canine and Edward's blood froze in his veins.

He pulled back, fresh terror enveloping him, clouding his mind. Where was he? What was going on? He thought he was in the basement, but . . . he thought he was in Mustang's house, too . . . Which one was the dream? Which one was real?

_"Ed!"_

_"Fullmetal!"_

He scrambled back, tripping over some sort of fabric. His back hit the wall, but instead of being comforted by it, it increased his panic. He tried to crawl away, someplace he wouldn't be trapped. The taste of blood was in his mouth, sickening and burning with iron.

Something latched onto his arm and he wheeled back, baring his teeth in warning. _"Get away," _he snarled, more than willing to tear apart the next thing that touched him. He got his feet under him, but his automail was broken. He was injured and handicapped in multiple ways. He knew there were at least two of them and his hand touched another wall and he knew he was cornered. There was nowhere he could go unless it was through his captors.

_"Get away from me!"_ he roared again, trying to blink away the terrified tears he could feel burning his eyes. He couldn't see them, only sense them. They could do a hundred things to him and if they put any effort into it, there would be little he could do to stop them. He was completely at their mercy, and vainly hoping they didn't know it.

But they could sense weakness like he could sense danger, and it wouldn't be long before he was back in that chair or on that slab of cold steel, being tortured and defiled and unable to do anything but scream.

And scream and scream until his throat bled and that cursed hope _died_.

"Brother, _please."_

His brain stopped.

Like a stream of sunlight breaking through a storm, his mind quieted and he knew. He wasn't sure if it was the familiarity of voice, or if it was how scared and desperate and hurt it was, but it pierced through the darkness, shattering the loathsome memories like glass.

_Alphonse . . ._

Then that means he . . . this was Mustang's house. This wasn't a dream, right? And did he . . . did he hurt Mustang?

The tang of blood in his mouth was incontestable proof.

He could feel their eyes on him, their stares that held equal parts pain and pity and fear. Watching him like a dangerous animal.

He slowly brought his shaky hand to his mouth, wiping the blood away. Mustang's blood. He had bit him, like some kind of feral dog.

He didn't deserve Mustang's kindness. He didn't deserve Alphonse's love, or Winry's care, and he didn't deserve this place to stay.

His hand wandered to his throat, where the collar and leash had been attached for so long.

He deserved to be thrown out on the street like the dog he was.

"Mustang—" he tried to say, but the name was strangled in his throat. He tried again, "Are . . . are you . . ?"

"It's fine, Ed," came the response, but his voice was thin, laced with the pain and discomfort that he was trying valiantly to hide.

Ed shook his head. "I'm . . . I'm _so sorry,_ Colonel . . . I didn't—"

"Forget about it," Mustang said gently. Kindly. "It was just a scratch. Are you okay?"

Was he okay? Ed had just bitten him and he had the gall to ask if _Edward_ was okay?

It was too hot, too oppressive in here with their stares and his guilt that was slowly drowning him where he stood.

It was too much. _Too much_.

He tried to run, he really did. He tried to move fast before they could catch him and smother him in his guilt. He lunged forward, barely making it a step before he ran straight into a warm body.

He smelled dark earth and spicy mesquite, tainted by the rich tang of blood. He tried to pull away, to keep running, but strong arms wrapped around him and wouldn't let him go.

_"Stop it,"_ he wailed, straining against the hold. "Let go of me! _Let go!"_

But Mustang didn't listen, and his withered body was too weak to fight him. "Ed, I want you to listen to me," Mustang murmured near his ear, holding his head trapped between the crook of the older man's neck and a strong hand at the back of his head. Ed struggled again, not wanting to be there, not _deserving_ to be there, but Mustang's grip only tightened. _"Listen, _Fullmetal," he hissed. "And _stop that!"_

Ed froze.

"I don't know what all happened to you, Ed. I don't know what awful things they did to you, or how badly they must have hurt you to make you like this," he whispered, voice rough with emotion that Ed couldn't begin to understand. "I . . . I know you don't trust me, Ed. I know I haven't given you much reason to. But if you'll give me just a _little_, Edward. If you will _let me_ help you, I will. I will help make this right again. Part of that is Winry coming. Part of that is psychiatrists and doctors, and part of it is Al and me and the others. As much as I want to, as much as it kills me, I can't make it go away alone. I need you to help me. I need you to _trust_ me, just with this. Just with getting you through this. Can you do that, Ed? Can you give me that much?"

Trust him? Trust him with his weakness, with his vulnerability? Trust him to take care of this, to help him?

_Trust him to not leave?_

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Unless Mustang felt indebted to him for something, there was no equivalent exchange here. It defied everything Edward knew, everything that made sense. He couldn't put that kind of trust in someone so close to leaving.

Could he?

"Edward, please," Mustang murmured, voice thick, pleading. "I know you're scared, kid. I know you don't want Winry to see this. I know you don't want _us_ to see this, but please, Ed. You have to trust me. This is what's best. I wouldn't let her come if I didn't think it was best for you."

Mustang was _begging_ him. Did it mean that much to him? Was Edward's trust that important?

Was _he_ that important?

"Colonel . . ." he whispered from where his face was buried in the older man's shoulder. He was warm and strong and Ed felt so _safe_ there, like maybe there was a chance everything could be okay.

It tasted like hope.

Ed tried not to be sick.

"It will be okay, Edward," he whispered, still holding him, cradling him like a child. "I promise you, when Winry comes, it will be okay. I won't let you hurt her. It will be okay, just trust me."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll try," he choked.

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth.

Because how could you trust someone that would end up leaving you?

* * *

_Is it just me, or are my chapters getting shorter? /shot/ It don't plan it that way, but they just cut off so nicely sometimes . . ._

_Sorry this probably wasn't the chapter you had in mind/wanted lol :'D I hope it will do, at any rate. I do love Ed angst xD But fear not, Winry will be here next chapter c: I hope everyone was in character here . . . I started out this thing in Roy's POV, but then it got so stiff and dull, so I switched to Ed's and everything got all dramatic lol._

_lotrprincess pointed out that my timeline was all askew. I said Alphonse was twelve, making Ed thirteen, but Hughes is already dead. Completely silly, and I shall fix it. Just so we're all on the same page, Alphonse is fourteen, Ed is fifteen and Hughes is gone, which fits the timeline much better lol. I blame my brain's inability to process numbers *nods* Yes, that is what I'll blame xD_

_Guys, you are the best! Thank you so much for the encouragement about my new job (this week got a lot better :)) and especially the feedback on this fic. I love writing this, and I'm just thrilled others are enjoying reading it c: All your reviews make me silly happy, and even the favs and just the views! Thanks for everything C: I'll be responding to reviews on the last chapter tonight/tomorrow._

_If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter!_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	11. Chapter 11

Roy couldn't quite keep the wince off of his face as Alphonse poured antiseptic over the bite wound in his forearm. It was a nasty injury; two ragged, crimson half-moons punctured into his flesh that dribbled blood down his wrist with every pump of his heart. "I'm not sure that you shouldn't go to the infirmary for this, Colonel," Al said, sounding somehow guilty, as if he were the one that bit Roy. "It's pretty deep."

"And here I had always assumed his bark was worse than his bite," Roy commented wryly, dabbing at the excess bloody fluid with a clean towel. "Just wrap it and I'll check on it in the morning."

Even without a face to work with, Alphonse managed to convey his disapproval easily enough. "Okay," was all he said though, thick fingers rifling through Roy's first aid kit for some gauze.

Silence stretched between them as Roy watched Al work, his eyes following the young boy's movements, but his mind back to the look on Ed's face right after he bit him.

There, with his back against the wall, he had looked so _scared_, so animalistic with Roy's blood dripping down his chin and his teeth bared like a dog. It disturbed Roy greatly to think Ed had been put in a place like that, where that kind of reaction would be necessary, It was a behavior that Edward had learned and cultivated, just so he could survive those horrid three months.

Silas had called him at the office to let him know Ed's first psychologist appointment was later that week. There was no way anyone could talk Roy out of Ed missing it. Not after this. As much as Roy hated to admit it, that last flashback was more aggressive than anything Ed had ever exhibited before. His other flashbacks had him fighting off others in a terrified frenzy, but this one was different. There was a clear intent to do harm, and that made Roy nervous.

"Colonel?"

Roy blinked, focusing his eyes once again on the suit of armor sitting across the table from him. "What is it?"

Alphonse was looking at him, but once Roy acknowledged it, he ducked his head and glued his eyes on the task at hand. "There's something I need to talk to you about," he said, casting a nervous look at the stairway, as if to ensure Ed was still in bed and not eavesdropping from the top of the steps.

Roy frowned, unsure about the boy's hesitancy. There was a level of foreboding about it that Roy found terribly unsettling, like the flutter you got in your stomach right before stepping onto a mine field. "What's that?" he asked, his own voice measured, cautious.

Alphonse fell silent as he wrapped the bandages around Roy's arm in steady, careful movements.

Roy waited.

"Sir, I'm going to leave."

Roy stared in incomprehension. He was simply unable to wrap his mind around such a statement.

_Al, leaving? Leaving his house? For how long? Or maybe leaving Central . . . ? What would he do with Ed? Where would they possibly be going in such a state? _

"I don't know that Ed's well enough for travel, Alphonse," Roy said deliberately, as if talking to a slow child. Perhaps Al just wasn't thinking clearly, but there was no way Ed could just be _taken out_ like that.

"I don't think you understand, Colonel," Al said. His eyes lifted to meet his, crimson and careful. "I'm leaving. I'm not taking Ed."

Roy gaped for only a second, but then realized he must have misheard, because the brothers didn't just _separate_. That wasn't how it worked, wasn't how _they_ worked. Unless ordered apart, or some sort of necessity required it, they were together. Always. Period.

"I'm sorry, Alphonse, but could you repeat that?" he asked stupidly.

"It's not what you might think," Alphonse said, voice quivering as if filled with emotion. As if he was about to cry, despite the physical impossibilities. "It's just . . . I don't see a way around it, Colonel. The only leads I've found to get his sight back point to Xing. After tonight . . ." He looked down at his leather hands. "I can't just sit around and _leave_ him like this, Colonel. Every time he wants to do something he can't, every time he looks so scared . . . this is _torturing_ him." He was gaining momentum, and even without a body's physical reaction to grief, Roy could hear every ounce of it in his voice. His gaze snapped up to meet Roy's "He can't sleep, and he had nightmares bad before, but now it's like he even has them when he's awake! I can't leave him like this when there might be a way to fix it!"

Roy frowned as a foreign, uncomfortable sensation stirred in his chest. "Alphonse, I know you and Ed have done a lot of travelling. Do you know how far away Xing is? Do you know how long it will take you to get there? Much less find the answers you need and get back?"

Alphonse nodded. "I know," he whispered, turning his attention back to Roy's forearm still laid bare on the table between them. He finished tying it off with a steady hand. Roy was certain that if Alphonse had been in a real body, he would be shaking too much to perform the simple task. "But I can't leave him like this any longer than he has to be . . . and that's what I want to talk to you about."

Again, his eyes met Roy's, but this time, instead of a well of grief, Roy saw something else there. A steel that looked so much like the stuff once found in Edward's gaze; pure, unadulterated, unapologetic determination.

"I want you to promise me you'll take care of him while I'm gone."

The unidentified feeling in Roy's chest blossomed into realization:

_Panic._

Roy was a soldier. He was used to being in charge, being in control. A snap of his fingers could end life or save it, the words from his mouth inspire fear or hope.

But Ed . . . Roy had taken all of his power and betrayed the boy. With nothing more than sketchy intelligence and an unrefined plan, Roy had sent the child into harm's way and he had come back missing pieces of his body and his soul. If there was one person that couldn't be trusted with Ed's welfare, it was Colonel Roy Mustang.

But here Alphonse was, asking him to protect and care for what he valued most, despite his failure. As if the whole thing hadn't been his fault to begin with.

As if he were somehow adequate to do this without Alphonse's help.

Edward could sense it, the need to mistrust Roy, the need for caution. Roy had betrayed him once, and he could do it again easily. Roy understood that he needed the boy to rely on him if he were going to make any headway in dealing with Ed's new limitations and insecurities, but there was a difference between Ed trusting him and Roy trusting himself. A big, ugly, terrifying difference.

"Alphonse," Roy began, the feeling in his chest tightening, making him take a deep, controlled breath to ease it. "I don't know that that's a good idea—"

The boy shook his helmet. "Sir, you're the only one. Besides me, you're the only one he would ever let help him. You're the only one who can do it. I know Ed. I know how stubborn he is."

Alphonse broke eye contact and began packing away medical supplies back into their container, his movements methodical and distracted. "After . . . after _that_ night, when we lost so much, he was devastated and he was lost, but that was because he had no direction or purpose. If you didn't come when you did . . . I'm not sure what would have happened to us.

"But that's what he needs right now. You gave him a direction, and you can do it again. He'll want to give up and just quit because he sees no way through this, but you won't let him, and right now he needs to be pushed more than ever."

Alphonse paused, but Roy's mind was reeling too much to come up with any sort of response. How could he refuse this? What words could he give to convince Al that this was wrong? He couldn't be trusted, not with something this big, something this important. Not with Edward.

"When I leave," Alphonse continued. "I don't think he's going to react well, but I'd feel a lot better knowing that he's here with you than if I left him with anyone else. I mean that, Colonel."

Roy wasn't sure if he should feel terrified or elated that Alphonse trusted him so much.

He settled for holding his breath and trying not to choke.

"Alphonse—"

"I know I'm asking a lot, Colonel. But I wouldn't ask if I had another option." His eyes were unwavering, no trace of the uncertainty he had possessed earlier. "So, will you promise to take care of him?"

The heavy question lingered on the kitchen table between them like a sleeping tiger: docile and dangerous. Roy could sense the threat as clearly as when he was caught in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.

This was not a promise to be taken lightly. If he accepted this binding contract, he would be held to it with uncompromising severity. If he accepted and didn't do all in his power to ensure Ed's safety and wellbeing, if he was incapable of protecting Alphonse's big brother, the consequences were more or less obvious by his tone of voice:

Alphonse would kill him.

Roy didn't doubt this truth for a moment.

Alphonse was the opposite of his brother. He was kind, good-natured, and understanding. He was patient and thoughtful and Roy had always found him likeable, but Roy knew from experience what losing someone close to you could do to your mind. The one desire that had plagued him in the dark months following Hughes' death was to find his murderer and turn him into a singed, bloody carcass. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't deny it. And he suspected that no matter how kind, how gentle the soul, grief could drive one to impossible extremes.

And if Alphonse had a weakness, it was Edward.

Part of Roy wanted to deny any responsibility. Ed wasn't his subordinate anymore. He had already gone above and beyond for him, lending him his own home and his care and support. Surely that was enough. Surely his obligations had been over the moment Ed's blind hand scratched out an illegible signature on his honorable discharge form.

But if Roy denied this, if he turned his back on them now, he would be no better than their father. Perhaps much worse. If he turned them away now, after all he had done, he doubted he would be able live with himself.

He was trapped in a place he didn't even have the will to escape.

"I promise."

He felt the crosshairs settle somewhere between his eyes.

* * *

Roy wasn't sure when he finally got to sleep, between his restless mind, the throbbing in his arm, and the whimpers and cries coming from across the hall, but when he finally did, it was disrupted all too soon.

_Because someone was in his room._

Half-formed memories played through his muddled mind of an Ishvalan soldier skulking into his tent, almost planting a knife in Hughes' chest before Roy's flame turned the assailant into ash.

He didn't notice the blond hair glinting in the moonlight before his glove was on his hand, fingers poised to snap.

The blind boy was frozen in the middle his room, wrapped in his blanket and clutching something cylindrical and white in his hand.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked softly, barely louder than a breeze but somehow deafening in the consuming silence. His blank eyes were wide, fixed somewhere at Roy's right.

Roy blinked at him. "Fullmetal, what are you doing?" he demanded, too tired to muster up the energy to be angry yet. He squinted at the analogue clock on his nightstand, trying to make out the numbers in the faint moonlight. "It's . . . _four in the morning."_

Ed winced. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"What are you doing?" Roy asked again, eyes moving to regard the white object in Ed's hand. Sudden suspicion tugged at his groggy mind and he kicked back the covers, peeling off his glove and tossing it on the nightstand as he rose.

Ed's eyes widened as he heard Roy get up, his only hand tightening around the white thing. "It's nothing. Sorry to bother you." He started making a hasty retreat for the door, but despite it being hasty, it was definitely slowed by his broken automail. He made a near comical, frantic shuffle for the hallway, but Roy caught up to him easily, plucking Ed's prize from his surprised hand with ease. "Hey, give it back!" Ed ordered, blinding reaching for Roy's arm.

Roy brushed him aside, instead choosing to glare at the bottle in his hands. "Edward, do you have any idea what these are?"

Brief panic flashed across the boy's face before his features settled into something more annoyed. "It's none of your business, Mustang. They're _my_ pills, they came from _my_ bag, I can take them if I want!"

Roy fought back a deep, burning desire to slap the kid in the back of the head. There was a reason Roy kept Ed's prescriptions and other medical supplies in his own bathroom. He didn't trust Ed with them, and for good reason. The kid was _blind_, for goodness' sake!

"Did you take any of these?"

Ed ducked his head.

"Fullmetal, answer me," Roy commanded, his patience wearing thin. Four in the morning did that to him.

The boy muttered something.

"What?"

"Couldn't get the top off," he repeated in exasperation, waving his single hand as evidence before dropping it dejectedly at his side. Despite the faint light, Roy could see the blush heating his cheeks.

Roy struggled to hold on to the anger rippling in his belly, but it lost some of its momentum at the reminder of Ed's other limitations.

Wouldn't Roy be fighting for some control, too, if he were in Ed's place? If he couldn't see, could barely walk, and couldn't even get off a childproof lid without assistance?

"Edward, Alphonse already gave you all your pills before you went to bed."

Ed kept his head bowed. "I know."

"What were you going to do with these?"

Again, Ed answered with miserable silence.

Roy had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Ed's own mouth. "Ed?"

The blond grimaced. "I was going to _take_ them. What do you think I was going to do with them?"

"Any particular reason you think you need another round of antibiotics at this time in the morning?"

Roy watched as Ed's eyes widened, then a dark, frustrated look stole over his features. "I was aiming for the sleep aides."

That was odd. Normally Ed refused the sleep aids. He never really explained why, but Al had told Roy that it made it hard for him to wake up when he was having nightmares. After particular sleepless nights, Alphonse said he liked to slip him one mixed in with his other pills anyway, like Silas suggested. Just so he could get at least a little rest. That Ed was seeking them out voluntarily just went to show how desperate he was.

But Alphonse had already given him sleep aids for the night, and they weren't to be taken for another six hours, at least. What if he had just indiscriminately taken half the bottle in Roy's hand? Even if they were sleep aides and not antibiotics, he could still be dead!

Roy sighed. "Fullmetal, you can't just go picking up medication and trying to take it! You have no idea what you're grabbing or what dosage you need. It's dangerous!"

Ed's scowl remained firmly in place. "Al's downstairs. He thought I was asleep when he left, but I wasn't. I can't sleep knowing that . . ." his voice faltered. "With _her_ coming tomorrow. You were asleep. It was the perfect time to . . ."

"To what?" Roy pressed.

Ed turned away. "I was going to try to find the sleep aides so I could sleep through tomorrow."

Roy suppressed a deep sigh. "Ed, you can't possibly—"

"I can't hurt her if I'm asleep! Besides, I knew if I asked you or Al, both of you would say no."

"You're right," Roy agreed. "The answer is no."

Something like fear lit on Ed's features. "Mustang, please . . . she'll be here _tomorrow_, and I _can't_. I can't live with myself if I hurt her. And I . . ." He paused, faltering as he struggled with his confession. "I don't want anyone to touch me. Especially in my ports." An involuntary shudder jolted his small body and Roy winced. "Mustang, can't you understand? I'll hurt her, or you, or anyone in my way . . ."

"I already promised you, Fullmetal," Roy reminded him, forcing some confidence into his voice. "I promised you I wouldn't let that happen."

When Ed saw he was still losing ground on the issue, he changed tactics from pleading to defiance. "And that worked out _so well_ for you tonight," he bit back.

Roy pretended the jab didn't make him falter. He pressed his throbbing arm to his side at the reminder. "That was before. I'm prepared now."

"That's a load of crap, Mustang," Ed hissed. "You can't trust me. I'm dangerous. It'll only be safe if I'm asleep for the whole thing."

"You can't sleep through the whole thing," Roy said, trying to keep his own voice calm and reasonable. The last thing he needed at four in the morning was a riled up blind boy with post-traumatic stress disorder. "Don't you have to be awake for the connection?" He had once heard from Ed that you could never be put under during the connection because you had to make sure all of the nerves were lining up right. Arguably the most painful part was the one you had to be the most alert for.

"I could make do!" he insisted. He opened his mouth to say more, then stopped, frozen. A moment later, Roy could hear it, too; the metal clanging of Alphonse coming up the stairs.

Ed sighed, and with it, all the fire seemed to leave him. Roy noticed it was starting to become a pattern: Some of his old temper would come back in brief flashes, then die back down into something more resigned and subdued. It would take a while for the fire to come back.

However dangerous it might be, Roy found himself preferring the fire over the beaten boy standing before him now. His shoulders slumped, head bowing to show his defeat. Like he didn't have it in him to fight this battle anymore.

"Are you going to give me the pills, or not?" he asked softly as Alphonse reached the hallway.

"Edward, I can't possibly give you a large enough dosage that will last that long and be safe for you. Sleep aides don't knock you out, they just help you sleep. Besides, if we're going through all this trouble to get your arm working, it needs to be right, don't you think?"

Ed didn't look up, or even respond. He just sighed and began shuffling for the door, his whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. He looked so young and vulnerable and not like Edward at all.

He was getting close to bumping into the doorframe. Roy reached out to help but Ed recoiled under his hand and shrugged it off. "Leave me alone, Mustang," he ordered, voice flat. "Sorry to wake you."

_Why did he feel like he had just lost something important?_

Alphonse appeared in the doorway, crimson eyes shining concern. "Brother? Why are you up?"

"No reason," Ed said, adjusting his course and following his brother's voice. "Just telling Colonel Idiot to stop snoring."

Alphonse allowed Ed to place his hand on his forearm and gently began to lead him away, throwing Roy one last questioning look before they disappeared from view.

Roy stood in the middle of his room, dressed only in his shorts and a rumpled shirt and holding a bottle of antibiotics. At four in the morning.

He wiped his hand down his tired face. He had been planning on going to the office early to get a few things accomplished before the Rockbell girl arrived, but a new priority had just clawed its way to the top of his list: more sleep. As much as possible before lunch.

Roy went to his bathroom and found it to be in a state of disarray from Ed's rummaging. He stepped over a mess of toiletries on the floor and only gave the bottle of spilled shampoo a weary glare before snagging Ed's upturned bag and shoving the bottle into its depths. He scooped up any other bottle he could find, his or Ed's, and piled it in as well. Then he went back to his bedside and shoved it all underneath his bed.

Without further ado, Roy collapsed back in bed and tried not to think about what tomorrow would be like.

* * *

Roy stared past the frozen breath curling from his lips as he searched the crowd, sharp eyes skipping from one blonde head to another.

The Central train station was a jumble of activity at this time of day. Trains whistled and puffed through the station like clockwork, loading and unloading passengers and cargo at every quarter hour. The station was packed with all walks of humanity, some leaving family in tearful farewells, some coming home to joyful reunions. Others slipped through the station without much fuss, business men shuffling on and off trains, forced along on a tide of vacationers and sight-seers with too much luggage and too many children. Steam filled the air from the trains and from the chatter of freezing pedestrians and Roy clutched his black overcoat tighter around him.

He _hated_ the cold.

Despite the glass ceiling and the heat off the coal trains and his many layers of clothing, Roy had already begun to lose feeling in his fingers and toes, the nip of winter slowly chasing the blood from them.

Just as Roy was about to give into temptation and wait in his car, he spied a shock of blonde hair moving steadily his way through the sea of humanity. Roy tracked the movement, and soon Winry Rockbell emerged through the crowd.

Roy had only met the girl a few times, but if he were any judge, it seemed as if she had grown a couple of inches since the last time he had seen her. Her pale skin was burned pink in the frigid wind, and her sunny hair and ragged scarf whipped around her head like some sort of possessed spirit. He knew she was thin, with only a hint of curves starting the show on her girlish frame, but her shape could have been anyone's guess underneath the large lavender coat engulfing her. She was lugging two heavy-looking suitcases with her, the strain of them obvious on her tightened features.

He was just about to call out for her when her blue eyes locked on him and flashed with recognition. She offered him a thin smile and made her way to him. "Colonel Mustang," she greeted, voice warmer than the air that carried it, though not by too much.

Roy had never gotten along too well with the girl. He suspected it had something to do with the way he had shown up when Edward and Alphonse were at their lowest and, as she probably viewed it, whisked them away from her. She seemed pleasant enough now, though a bit reserved.

Winry peered behind him, then all around, a frown slowly drawing her pale brows together. "Where are those two delinquents?"

A small smile tugged at Roy's lips. "That's why I'm here."

Sudden fear lit in her eyes, a look that was as much knowing as it was denying. Roy had seen it often enough on the faces of loved ones when their children went off to war; It was the look of those that were left behind to wait. "What's wrong?"

He sighed, his breath leaving in a cloud. "I'll explain in the car." He reached forward and took her bags, nearly dropping them as she relinquished their full weight to his numb fingers. How did such a small girl carry this? It weighted a ton!

"Pack for a long stay?" he asked, his voice strained as he tried to balance the weight.

Winry smirked at him in a triumphant sort of way that irritated him for some reason. "Not really, I only have two days to get back and help Granny, but Al said Ed's automail is a wreck." Her smile slid off her face and her eyes became distant, as if he wasn't a part of the conversation anymore. "That idiot doesn't take care of his automail at all! He reads all the time, but he didn't even _glance_ at the operation manual, and then he does his stupid alchemy on it and turns my beautiful work into some kind of spear and I _swear_, he can't keep himself from getting hurt!"

Roy had heard the building worry in her voice, slipping underneath her words in a subtle stream, a blatant contradiction to her annoyed speech.

As if catching herself, she blinked, then glanced up at him, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I just . . . worry about them, I guess." Her voice was suddenly stiff. "Why are you here, anyway?" she asked quickly, looking around as if searching for someone else. "Usually it's Mister Armstrong that meets me at the train station when those two morons can't."

"That's what I need to talk to you about," he said, gesturing to his car and ignoring her concerned look. He loaded the suitcases in the trunk and opened the passenger door for the girl before climbing in himself. He quickly started the engine, grimacing at the cool air that pumped through the vents. He had splurged to buy one of those fancy new cars with the fancy new heaters, and they took six blocks to warm up!

"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?" she asked warily, eying him the way seals eye shark-infested waters.

He sighed, feeling the weight of the past few months settle around his shoulders. He had rehearsed this all morning, and now had no idea how to tell her.

"Colonel?"

"Tell me about the last time you heard from Ed."

* * *

_Not sure how I feel about this chapter . . . there are things I like and things I don't, but don't know what to do about -.- This was one of those chapters that just fights you every step of the way haha. I hope you at least enjoyed it, regardless c:_

_Probably not as much Winry as you were hoping for, but I realized these conversations needed to be had before she got there. It was just time xD And I don't want to keep you waiting for an update, so this was my compromise lol :'D_

_Oh, and someone said something about how Roy would react being bitten on the neck, because in Ed's head, he clearly bit the wolf in the neck. But where a wolf would grab with its jaws, a human would grab with their hand, thus Roy's forearm got bitten. Hope no one got too confused on that :'D_

_Al is leaving . . . WHY, ALPHONSE?! It's not going to go over well . . . Poor Edo. ;_;_

_I ramble. I apologize. I shall respond to reviews from the last chapter soon c:_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	12. Chapter 12

Ed had always paced when he was nervous. When his mind was racing a mile a minute, it was like his body felt the need to keep up, and the urge to move was not one that could be easily stifled.

But even that small luxury was denied him. He sat on Mustang's couch, hand curled around Alphonse's knee and Alphonse's broad hand on his shoulder. He shifted, bouncing his real leg up and down, leaning up and back, curling his body underneath the blanket and straightening it. His skin was cold and clammy from sweat, but his face seemed to be burning up, and he felt that horrible, sick feeling as if his stomach were about to heave what little was in it all over the floor.

He had heard the car pull up outside a while ago now. Or at least it seemed a while ago . . . his sense of time wasn't very accurate anymore, but he knew why they were sitting out there, waiting. He knew exactly what they were waiting for.

Mustang would have told her everything, or at least everything he could. And Winry would be trying to stop crying.

Ed had tried all morning to keep his mouth shut in front of Alphonse, but as his fear grew, his need to confess did as well. He wanted to tell Al how scared he was, how much he didn't want her to see him this way. He wanted to beg his brother to take him away, or to tell Winry he was fine and to go home. Anything to avoid this.

But no matter what he said, this wouldn't go away and anything he had to say would just make his brother feel worse than he probably already did. Alphonse was suffering just as much if not more than Ed was, watching the head of their small, broken family turn into a crippled wreck. Ed bit his tongue and tried to be strong for Al, but strength was something that had fled him months ago. He found himself shaking, the conflict between what he wanted to do and what he needed do breaking him apart from the inside out. He drew in shuddering breathes as his body fought a wave of adrenaline, and finally he couldn't stand it.

"I can't do this, Al," Ed finally whispered, voice catching. She was the only one left, the only one he could still protect, if she just stayed away. If she saw him, she would know, and there would be no one left to pretend for. He wouldn't be able to lie to himself anymore. "Please just tell her to leave, Al, _please_."

He heard Al shift beside him and felt the huge gauntlet on his empty shoulder port move, wrapping around his thin body in a protective, supportive embrace. He leaned into it, allowing his body to conform against the hard metal suit, feeling the pulse of his brother's soul, strong and steady. "I'm here, Brother," he said, his sweet voice calm over a barely detectable tension. He was nervous, too. "I won't let anything happen. I promise."

He didn't understand. No one knew him as well as Alphonse, and even _he_ didn't understand.

A sudden, terrible sense of isolation threatened to smother him.

Edward screwed his eyes shut and released a tight breath, then caught himself and hoped Alphonse didn't feel it. He hated how Al had to comfort him when Ed was supposed to be the one reassuring his little brother. He was supposed to be the big brother, strong and protective and infallible. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be this pathetic.

And now Winry would know, too.

He heard the car doors open and shut.

His heart jumped into his throat.

Ed suddenly got to his feet, staggering a bit as balance evaded him and his only arm flew out to steady himself on the coffee table.

"Brother, where are you going?!" Al asked, surprise pitching his voice an octave too high, armor clanking as he rose, too.

Ed clutched his blanket to him and stumbled to the other side of the table as quickly as he could. It wasn't very fast, but at least Al didn't catch up to stop him and he didn't fall down. He swept his hand out in front of him like some kind of radar, wincing when it finally smacked into the banister. He latched on and began dragging himself up the stairs as fast as his warped automail would allow.

_You're such a coward._

"Brother, stop! Where are you going?" Al asked again, this time not far behind. Ed had surprised him, but it wouldn't be another few seconds before Al caught up and stopped him.

He heard keys fumbling at the front door.

Ed made it to the landing, Al's armor creaking just a few feet behind him and the door opened downstairs. "Boys?" Mustang called, the way he did after coming home from work. Like this was an ordinary day and not the end of all that was Edward Elric.

Ed skipped the first bedroom, then hurled himself into the open bathroom and locked the door behind him.

"Brother! What are you doing?" Al asked, his voice muffled by the door and carrying an edge of panic to it. A heavy leather gauntlet thumped against the door. "Open the door!"

Ed backed up, feeling the fluffy bath rug under his bare foot, then heard his automail clack against the cold tile as his back hit the wall. He reached to the side, his one arm clasping the porcelain side of the bathtub. The door kept pounding and Alphonse kept pleading, but Ed made no move to open it.

Maybe if he just took a few minutes . . . maybe if it was on his own terms, he could compose himself. Maybe he wouldn't feel so much like his world was spinning out of his control; like a boat in a storm, helplessly being driven to crash against the rocks.

Maybe if he really focused, he could be strong for Winry. If he were strong enough, he wouldn't have a flashback, and he wouldn't hurt her, and he could protect her from the mess he had become.

Then he could keep lying to himself. He could keep telling himself that everything would be okay.

Ed crawled into the tub, the cool walls soothing against his feverish skin. It was like pressing his cheek against Al's metal suit, except he didn't have to pretend to hide how his frail body shook. He curled up, pulling the blanket tighter around him and focused on his breathing, trying to center his spinning thoughts that threatened to make him sick with fear and shame.

_In and out._

He could hear Mustang outside, then the shrill squeak of Winry's panicked voice.

He redoubled his efforts to tune them out, focusing on his warm breath bouncing from the smooth surface before him and back to his face.

If he could stop this drowning feeling, maybe he could do it.

_In and out. _

More voices, sounding even farther away.

Good. Just think about nothing important. Just like in the basement. He would make his mind blank until even pain didn't hurt anymore. Like Teacher taught him.

The fear started to ebb, the roar being tamed into a quiet buzz. He could do this, if he just kept breathing.

_In and out. In and out. In and out._

A shrill whine, accompanied by the scent of ozone, pierced through the room, shattering his concentration. The fragile peace he had found shook, then broke into a thousand pieces. He startled badly, barely catching a surprised whimper before it got past his lips.

Alchemy destroyed the lock and the door opened. Heavy footsteps approached, and Ed tried to bury his head under the blanket. He gasped a little at the touch on his side, flinching away as if from a burn. "Please go away," he begged, so quiet he wasn't sure if he could be heard. His voice shook and he swallowed thickly. It was bad enough his words were pathetic without his voice sounding so painfully weak, too.

He smelled Mustang's rich aftershave, then heard him move, telling Al and probably Winry to meet him downstairs. Then the door shut and he was left alone with Mustang in the small bathroom.

Mustang settled on the floor beside the bathtub, but Edward kept the blanket over his head and faced the wall. He didn't want to talk about it. Words wouldn't fix this, and Mustang had already told him he would deny him the small comfort of sleep aides. He had nothing left to talk about.

The sense of betrayal Mustang's presence brought suddenly made him feel hollowed and angry. He clung to the emotion, letting it cover his fear like a bandage on a bleeding wound. It was comforting in and of itself to feel fire burning through his veins instead of icy dread. Just last night Mustang had asked him to trust him, but here he was, forcing him into meeting Winry when he was far from ready. Mustang didn't care. He would do anything to get Ed mobile and out of his way. He would be happier once Ed was gone. He didn't want this. Who could possibly want to put up with a crippled, blind, foul-tempered teenager?

"What are you doing in here, Ed?" Mustang asked over him, disapproval and weariness tainting his voice.

"I didn't come in here to talk, in case you missed the way the door was _shut_ and _locked_."

"I gathered that much," he said wryly. "But why . . . wait, are you hiding?"

Ed let his sullen silence answer for him.

Mustang took a deep breath and sighed. When next he spoke, his voice was sickeningly gentle in a way that made what was left of Ed's pride bristle. "Are you really that scared, Ed?"

"Why, is that not allowed?" he asked, not bothering to keep the disdain from his voice. "Sorry if I'm not 'brave' enough for you, _Colonel_." He spat the title like a curse. "It's not like I asked for this. I didn't ask for any of this, so you can keep your stupid comments to yourself!"

"That's not what I—"

"Just shut up!" Ed shouted, curling tighter around himself. There was a time when he would be up and jumping as he yelled at his stupid superior and maybe even threw a punch at him, if he got angry enough, but those days were gone. Mustang could outmaneuver him to a pathetic degree, like a cat batting around injured prey. "I don't want to hear it, Mustang! I'm tired of it! I'm sick of being here with you breathing down my neck and acting like you actually give a crap about me and Al. What's with the whole charade, huh? Is Hawkeye making you do it? Because I don't need your help! I don't _want_ it!"

If Ed had stopped to think, he would realize he was pushing Mustang to do what terrified him most of all. But he was angry, and he never said what he meant to when he was angry, and he just wanted Mustang to leave him alone and stop staring at him the way you look at hopeless cripples and the terminally ill. All of that nauseating pity made his gut turn.

That's how everyone looked at him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. He had felt it every day in the hospital, and he had felt it every day since. He already hated himself enough without being ashamed and humiliated that he was some kind of a walking complex.

The silence Edward had thought he wanted turned out to be deafening. All he could hear were Mustang's breathes moving in and out and his own nervous pulse echoing through the porcelain tub.

"So," Mustang began, his deep voice careful but firm. "You didn't deny that you're scared."

Edward ground his teeth. What was the point of this?! Was he trying to belittle him? Rub it in his face that he was cowering in the bathroom like a toddler hiding from imaginary monsters? The cruelty of it made Ed's eyes sting with hot tears that he quickly blinked away.

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he was like this now.

Maybe if he told that to himself enough, he would start to believe it.

They used to ask him if he was scared. The leader, the one he saw the most with the salt-and-pepper beard and the dark, malicious eyes used to ask him in his accented voice if he was scared yet. Before they took his sight, he'd defiantly answered no and they'd hit him and stabbed him and electrocuted him until he was a gibbering, weeping wreck, but he would still scream that he wasn't afraid. Not of them. The man promised he would be soon.

After his eyes were gone, he couldn't summon the courage to answer at all.

They hit him anyways.

The man laughed a rough, grating sound, like ice against stone. It was a terrible, humiliating sound and Ed tried to curl in on himself, trying to block out the awful screech of it . . .

"Ed, stay with me," Mustang said.

Ed flinched as if struck, the sound of the Colonel's voice jolting him back from his drifting thoughts. But it had been his fault that his mind was wondering in the first place! "Why are you still here? I told you to leave!"

"No," Mustang said simply. "I'm not leaving you alone like this."

"Like _what_?"

"No one should have to be alone when they're scared, Fullmetal."

Honestly?

He tried to choke it down, but his body started to shake, his stomach convulsing and shoulders quivering until a hysteric laugh forced its way past his lips. It sounded harsh and foreign, even to his own ears, and had a touch of madness to it that made him laugh all the more. His weakened body quickly started to ache from the simple strain of it and he had to slow his guffaws into quiet chuckles, but he couldn't keep the derisive smile off his cracked lips. He hadn't laughed like that in months, sanely or otherwise.

"Edward?" Mustang asked, sounding uncertain and a bit worried. It was about time the idiot figured out he was out of his league on this one.

What a load of crap! Not alone when he was scared . . . He had spent the past three months alone and scared. The only difference Mustang would make would be someone there to witness him trying to hold his mind together as he unraveled at the seams.

Ed found the irony of it all terribly funny.

Maybe that was proof he was losing his mind.

He didn't realize his laugh had turned into sobs until he felt hot tears running down his face. He furiously swiped at them with the corner of the blanket, but more appeared in their place and he couldn't stop them. His body began to tremble anew, and as much as he tried to stop it he was powerless. Too much had happened. His body hurt, his mind hurt and his soul hurt the most of all and he couldn't slow down the stupid tears.

He had always tried so hard to keep himself from crying, and now he couldn't seem to stop.

Strong hands reached into the bath around him, slowly, gently hooking under his knees and around his shoulders. He could only gasp in protest as Mustang picked him up from his resting place, settling on the floor and pulling him into his lap like he was a little kid. Ed didn't have it in him to fight it as Mustang tucked his head under his jaw and held him close as he wept, his tears soaking the front of the older man's jacket and his body convulsing with tight sobs.

If Ed were being honest with himself, it didn't feel so bad to be held by hands that didn't try to hurt him. Now that he was pressed to the older man's chest, he found the he craved the closeness, the security of having strong, familiar arms around him. It helped ease the ache of isolation, a sensation that had become so pervasive and so normal that he usually forgot it was there altogether. Like the way he never seemed to notice he was famished until food was placed before him, his body so used to starvation that it didn't feel the need to remind him anymore. His soul was used to being trapped alone in the darkness.

But more than that, Ed felt _safe_. He felt that no matter what nightmares or hallucinations tried to tear him from reality, Mustang's firm embrace would hold them at bay.

So he held onto Mustang and wept. He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but it had to have been a good while. He stopped crying a few times. His tears would finally slow, then he would listen to Mustang's heartbeat under his right ear and sniffle and start sobbing again with renewed despair as he was reminded again how after this, nothing would ever be the same.

This was how it was going to be. He would be blind the rest of his life. Blind and scared, and Al would be stuck in that suit, Winry would lose all faith in him, and everyone he had ever admired would look at him like a useless cripple. One by one they would leave, and he would be alone and he would deserve it.

But Mustang was still here, holding him like his own child. He'd been here through all of it.

"Why, Mustang?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" Mustang's deep voice vibrated in his chest under Ed's cheek, somehow soothing.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, trying hard to make his voice stop shaking as more tears slid down his face. His hand fisted Mustang's lapel in an attempt to stop its trembling. "It doesn't make sense. You don't owe me anything. I'm not even your subordinate anymore. I don't have anything to give you and I'm less than useless. I say all kinds of awful things to you and bite you and keep you awake at night with all my stupid screaming. I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

Mustang sighed against him, his breath ruffling Ed's hair. "You're an idiot, Ed," he said, and Ed could hear the smile in his voice. "For all your talk of being a genius, you don't have a clue. Guess I'll have to spell it out for you, huh?"

Ed didn't feel the need to dignify that with a response.

"I told you I'd help you get through this. I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's not a reason," Ed muttered.

He felt Mustang's chin move as he probably smirked. "No, that's not a reason. The reason is, whether you're still in the military or not, you're still one of mine. I look out for my own, Fullmetal. So, whether you like it or not, I'm going to be here, pushing you and dragging you if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you through this."

Could that be true? Was it really that simple? Would Mustang really let him stay, just like that?

_He wouldn't leave . . .?_

Ed wasn't sure if it was discernment or desperation, but he _needed_ to believe that. He needed it so badly it hurt deep in his chest and made the notion of rejecting it impossible. He was tired, so tired of being afraid and alone.

It had to be true, or Ed knew deep in his soul that what was left of him would break.

So whether it was wise or not, whether it was true or not, Ed let himself believe. He let himself be relieved and warm and safe, because the alternative was unbearable, and it was so nice to tell himself that he could depend on Mustang.

So he believed.

He ignored the tiny, trepid voice in the back of his mind that told him how painful it would be the day Mustang stabbed him in the back.

A consuming sense of relief flooded him, filling a deep, dark void he hadn't realized was there until it was practically gone. It felt good to trust Mustang. It felt right, like there was a real, actual chance Mustang could somehow make this turn out alright.

A weak laugh that sounded more like another sob escaped Ed's lips and, despite his reservations, he clung to Mustang's lapel even tighter, as if he could banish the feeling altogether by force of will. "Another one of your stupid pep talks, Mustang?"

"I'll give you one every hour, if I have to."

Ed took a steadying breath. If what Mustang said was true, he had been such a jerk. Mustang had taken care of him when he wasn't much more than a rabid animal, and now here he was, cradling him on the bathroom floor while he sobbed and carried on like a deranged idiot, and all he had gotten for his troubles was Ed's temper. "Sorry. About what I said before . . . I mean—"

"Forget it."

"But—"

"Apologies were never your strong suite, Fullmetal," Mustang said with a smile in his voice. "Besides, I think you're entitled to be a little angry, after everything you've been through."

How could he just think that? How could he be so forgiving? Ed shook his head. Mustang had to be missing something. "Maybe at . . . at _those_ people, but not at you or Al. You don't . . . you shouldn't . . ." Ed gritted his teeth in frustration as the words refused to come.

Mustang made a faintly amused sound. "Apology accepted."

Just like that? Ed almost melted in relief at those two simple words, but something held him back. He couldn't be sure. He heard his voice, but the Colonel was a good liar, and without Mustang's eyes, Ed couldn't tell if he was being altogether truthful.

He couldn't tell if the trust he had just desperately forced out of himself was misplaced.

_Ignore it._

They sat there in quietness, broken only by their breathing and steady heartbeats. Ed became suddenly self-conscious, curled up in the lap of his former superior like some kind of child. Mustang might just be helping out of some illogical sense of obligation. Why would he want to be there? How could he not be upset, after all the things Ed put him through? Ed thought about getting up, but wasn't sure if he could manage it on his own.

"Think you're ready?" Mustang finally asked.

Ed flinched, his response coming slow and unsteady. "I don't think I can do it, Colonel."

"I think you can."

Ed's fingers tightened around Mustang's coat, momentarily not caring how pathetic it made him look. Mustang thought he could do it? "How do you know?"

Mustang made another amused snort. "Ed, you've taken on homunculi, murderers, soldiers and Hawkeye when her chocolate stash runs dry. I think you can handle a little automail tune-up, don't you think?"

A weak laugh shook his frame and a few lingering tears squeezed past his eyes. "Like you'd know anything, jerk."

"I know enough not to be a big sissy about it," Mustang said, the smirk in his voice something so solid, Ed could almost see it. Mustang was letting him know that they were okay. They may not have been good, but they were okay. For now, okay was good enough for Ed. "You've done it a hundred times. What's one more?"

Ed relaxed just a bit, the familiar banter taking the edge off of his fears. "Easy for you to say. Automail hurts like crap."

"All I hear is whining," Mustang said, removing an arm from around him and wrapping it under his elbow. Ed let the older man help pull them both to their feet. Edward swayed dangerously, but Mustang didn't let him fall, pulling him close and holding steady. "Let's go say hi to Winry."

And Ed started walking, because he decided he trusted Mustang.

Mustang carefully led Ed out of the bathroom and to the stairs. Ed allowed himself to be pulled along, but his anxiety returned, slowly building with each step. It felt like the longest walk of his life, like he was a condemned man walking to the gallows.

When Winry saw him, it would be over.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Mustang murmured gently, as if reading his mind.

"What if . . . I mean, she's upset, isn't she? What is she going to think when she actually _sees_ this?" Ed asked, feeling his voice waver like his mismatched steps.

Mustang just held him tighter, pulling him even closer as if he could lend Ed his own strength. "If Miss Rockbell is anything like the way you and Alphonse have described, she won't think any less of you. I promise."

"How do you know?" Ed asked, unable to stop the sad little question before it could leave his lips.

"Have a little faith in people, will you?" he said with another one of those soft smiles in his voice. It didn't feel quite so patronizing this time.

They stopped at the stairs and Ed let Mustang guide him down. He heard hushed voices in the kitchen, but couldn't make out any words over the faltering whirl in his damaged automail and their muffled steps.

"Is she upset?" Ed asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it all the same.

"One of her closest friends is hurt. Of course she's upset," Mustang said in the same tone he told Ed that of course formal attire was required, or of course he wasn't allowed to blow up half the city to find a petty thief. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Ed didn't respond to that. He had to stop talking and instead start forcing one step in front of the other. It was difficult enough to move his left leg when he wanted to, but it seemed the automail picked up on his hesitation, and now it was barely bending at all. He had to swing it out ahead of him from his hip, the effort of it exhausting him physically the same way his worry exhausted him emotionally. Even his real leg didn't cooperate, shaking so badly he was sure he would topple over if Mustang weren't holding onto him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to cross the living room. The voices grew louder.

Ed's quivering hand grabbed a handful of Mustang's sleeve.

He knew when they rounded the corner. It was evident because two voices gave a soft, collective gasp and all sound stopped. Mustang brought them to a halt, and Ed wondered why they had to stop there. He didn't know where Alphonse was. When he stopped moving, his metal body was impossible to find by sound alone. He thought he heard faint breathing not far in front of him, but that could have been his pulse pounding in his ears.

The silence stretched on and Ed tried not to hyperventilate. Where were they? What was everyone waiting on? Was he supposed to say something?

She was probably speechless from the sight of him. He hadn't gotten a look at himself in months, but he could imagine; hopelessly thin, wasting body, bleached eyes and pale, papery skin with more bruises and lacerations than he could possibly count and a haunted visage that he couldn't wipe away. He probably looked like a beaten skeleton in a skin suit, more wraith than human.

He let go of his steadying hold on Mustang and clutched his blanket tighter around him, a vain effort to hide his shriveled body and his shaking knees.

_Would no one say anything?_

Tentative footsteps shuffled right in front of him. He froze, listening.

Then he smelled it: sunshine and clean air and citrus. He smelled his childhood, when everything was perfect and he and Al and Winry played outside all day, running through the fields and swimming in the lake until the sun had set and the day ended, only to start again the next morning. He smelled summer and grass and freedom and peace, like stepping out of this nightmare and into a wonderful dream.

Winry smelled like home.

"Edward?" came her hushed, sweet voice, and suddenly he couldn't breathe anymore. It was sad and watery, the way she sounded after she cried, but there was something else. There was a fear there that he only ever heard a few times and he hated the sound of it. Like she was afraid he wouldn't recognize her, afraid he had forgotten and would cower from her because he couldn't see her. She was asking permission and reassurance at the same time.

But Ed knew her. Even without eyes, he would know her voice and her scent anywhere.

It took him a few tries, but he finally found his voice. "Win . . . ry . . ."

"Oh, Ed!" she cried, and Mustang released him just in time for him to be caught in a tight embrace. He almost fell over, but Winry's thin arms wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him as he instinctively snaked his arm underneath hers.

Her body was soft and warm against him, feeling like home and heaven all at once. He buried his head in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, losing himself in warm memories. He felt like if he closed his eyes tight enough, he would be back in Resembool, holding her in the Rockbell living room, and Al would playfully be telling him not to hog all of Winry's attention, and Granny Pinako would be making lunch with Den barking outside, and when he opened his eyes, he would see her face and she would ask what had gotten into him and make fun of him for being stupid and everything would be right.

She breathed raggedly into the crook of his neck and started crying.

"Oh, no, Winry, don't cry," he begged, patting her back in what he hoped was a soothing way. "It's okay, Winry. It's okay."

She suddenly went ridged against him. "How . . . how can you say that?!" she demanded, voice thick and muffled but her tone all too clear. She sounded like she wanted to yell at his face, but she didn't let go of him. "It's not okay, Ed, it's not okay at all! Why didn't you call?! Why didn't you tell me, you big idiot!" If it were possible, she clung even tighter to him. Ed's sensitive ribs protested sharply at the abuse, but he ignored them. This was too important.

"I don't know," he answered. "I don't know, and I'm sorry." Her body shook more than his and he fought to keep his balance.

It seemed like his apology gave her pause, though, because slowly, she calmed. Her breathing gradually evened out, and soon she was just holding him the same way he was holding her, her silent tears leaving cooling tracks down his neck to mix with his own.

When he opened his eyes, he didn't see Resembool.

Strange enough, something about it still felt like home.

* * *

This is, like, the first chapter to sort of end on a happy-ish note xD

Sorry for the super long delay! D: Hopefully the longish chapter made up for it lol xDThis is one of those chapters where I write a few sentences, then stare at it and see how everything is wrong and erase and restart. I probably went back and redid most of it fifteen times, and I'm still not totally satisfied with it, but alas, I give up lol. I like it well enough xD

Oh my gosh, guys, over 300 reviews? And over 15,000 views? I'm going to faint from how awesome you guys are. Seriously, your support means the world to me :) Thanks so much for being here and reading, and those that take the time to review, thank you so much! You guys are awesome 3

By the by, some people have drawn some wonderful fan art for this fic over on deviantart. If you'll just go to rainflame07 .deviantart (.com)/ art/ Stairway-to-Paradise-Ch11-FMA-Fan-Fiction- 402455199 and take out the () and all the silly spaces, scroll down to my comments and there's a section with links to some really awesome pics C: If you've done fan art, I'd love for you to show me so I can link everyone to it :)

Again, you guys are the best! I'll respond to reviews from last time before next time lol xD Hope you enjoyed, and if you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter! ;)

God Bless,

-RainFlame


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